The Hell Within
by niki-nikster
Summary: A reluctant Norman Jayden is blackmailed into joining forces with an equally determined Grace Mars and later Scott Shelby, a troubled Ethan Mars finds an unexpected ally and comfort in Madison Paige, all in a frantic race against time to save Shaun Mars.
1. Doctor's Appointment

Hello! First of all, I would like to thank mythstoorfoot, netherlady, Betty Royale and samik (one autograph coming up!) for their encouraging responses to Scarred! That really acted as a catalyst for me to write further! More comments are welcome! And anticipated for this one! :D For this fan fic, I've written my own interpretation of Grace's character, since there's not much on her in the game. And ya, she's better looking in this one (just google Ginnie Watson, the actress who dubbed for her, to get an idea). Please, please comment. I'd love to know what everyone thinks and will try to respond to all of you! Never done a fan fic before, and crime fiction, never ever! So please be a little kind. But honest! I wish my summary was better, though.

* * *

Grace Garner had never felt such a sickening feeling before. Not even when her older son Jason died. But the thought of losing Shaun was unbearable. The police had been looking for him, but a certain intuition told her that they didn't have much time. She tried calling Ethan again, hoping that he'd answer this time. He did. "Ethan, where are you?" "Grace?"

"I am sitting in the car outside your house, you aren't there!"

"I won't be staying there for a while now…."

Grace was getting desperate. "Ethan, listen…." she sobbed. "The Origami Killer's got Shaun, I know it! We need to find him, together. Please tell me where…" A high-pitched whistle and the rumbling sound of the train muffled something Ethan said. "Doing it alone….bring back…..safe and sound….." And then the call got disconnected. She tried calling again. The cell was switched off.

Grace nervously grasped the steering wheel. Ethan had been acting very strange since Shaun disappeared. They had just left the police station together, their separate ways, after which he just stopped taking calls. And now this…. _Actually, _Grace realized, _for quite a while now._ She thought of Lieutenant Carter Blake. "If you remember anything unusual around the time Shaun Mars disappeared, you might wanna let me know." Grace knew where she was going.

* * *

Madison Paige hadn't slept well in a very long time. An occasional nap did not count. Nor did a slumber induced by pills. Even if her insomnia permitted her a few hour's rest, she saw terrifying visions of people, converging on her, faces she never forgot. She glanced through an article on the front page of the late evening tabloid to distract herself from those thoughts. It had a photograph of Ethan Mars and spoke about the disappearance of his son, about the probability of Shaun being the killer's next victim and about the mother (Grace) and the police being repeatedly unavailable for comment.

_Of course, _Madison thought. _Hounding the distressed parents always got front page prominence. So typical of us, journalists…_ Putting the tabloid aside, she got down to cleaning her apartment…..for the third time in the night, _I'll check into Crossroads after I'm done….high time! I need my sleep. _She switched on the vacuum cleaner only to have it splutter and die out. "Behold," she muttered to herself, "the glamorous life of Madison Paige."

* * *

Norman Jayden watched in silent rage from behind a two-way mirror as Lieutenant Carter Blake slammed a man's head into the table. "Fuckin' bullshit," he cursed and stormed out of the room. "Good evening," Kathy beamed when she saw him approaching the coffee vending machine. Detective Kathy Conley was the only person in the police department Norman shared a rapport with. The others either resented his presence or wouldn't give a damn. Kathy had been friendly and a little flirtatious at first, but backed off when she realized he wasn't interested.

"What's with the cowboy flick silence?" she asked. Norman slowly drummed his fingers against the table. "Blake's interrogating Korda…" Kathy nodded. "Yes, I could almost hear it."

"Miroslav Korda is only a suspect! What gives Blake the right to…"

"To use such brutal methods?" Kathy interrupted. "Korda's a suspect in the Origami Killer's case. Tempers are bound to flare."

"Not like this…." Norman frowned. He paused to take a sip of the coffee. "Why doesn't anyone complain?' he grimaced. "What, like in high school?" Kathy sneered. They began walking towards the cubicles. "Blake may be a ruthless son of a bitch," she continued, "but his methods have yielded results. So, everyone's happy."

"By 'complain'," Norman said with a wry tone, "I was referring to the coffee. But thank you for your delightful insights." "Coming, Norman?" Blake asked, swiftly over-taking him. Norman exchanged a quick glance with Kathy, before following him to his work station.

"Ms. Garner?" Grace looked up. "This is Agent Norman Jayden from the FBI." Her swollen eyes lingered on him for a moment before returning to Blake. "You said I could tell you if remembered something unusual…." "I did."

Grace nervously crossed and uncrossed her legs. "This happened some time back….it was very late at night, when there was a knock on my door."

"I opened it to find Ethan standing outside, completely drenched. He had a wild look in his eyes and he spoke about drowning and dead bodies…" She paused to stifle a sob. "The next day, there was news about a boy's body being found in a wasteland…..the Origami killer's eighth victim."

Blake and Norman listened, intrigued, as she spoke about the psychiatric help he had been taking after Jason died. "He's not even home right now," Grace said as she rose from her seat. "From what I gathered, he's probably in a motel near a railway line. I heard the sound of a train when I spoke to him last…"

"Is there anything else?" Blake asked. "No..." she hesitated for a moment. "I don't know if this will help the investigation or not…I just felt that this was something you should know." Blake nodded. "I just want my son back…" she mumbled fervently. "We'll do what we can, Ms. Garner," Blake said .

He watched her leave before turning to Norman. "Come on Jayden." He threw on his coat. "We have a doctor's appointment."

* * *

Okay, I have no idea how this chapter's turned out. Please pardon any jargon-related error I may be making in the later chapters. And ya, a disclaimer… I don't own Heavy Rain or the characters (would luurrrve to own Norman Jayden, though!). Any resemblance to any person living or dead, place, etc etc is purely coincidental. Thanks for reading! Do comment.

PS : I wish my summary was better, though. I wanted it end it with something like, "They all have to face their worst fears and try to deal with The Hell Within." But I guess that sounds a little….odd…


	2. The Eagle

First of all, I would like to thank the usual suspects - netherlady, mythstoorfoot, and Betty Royale, yet again! A big thank you to Butters321 and heavy fangirl for their comments too. Thank you all! And thanks in advance to those who may comment later, if they do! To heavy fangirl I would just like to say that I neither hope nor intend to disappoint you, mate! Or any of you for that matter! Trying to keep it cliché free. :)

Feeling nervous, posting this one up. Really am. The names of places in the trials are fictitious to the best of my knowledge. Which is prolly why they sound so stupid…:)

* * *

Ethan Mars surveyed his dismal surroundings as he made his way up a flight of stairs carrying a cardboard box. Crossroads was a decent enough motel to serve his purpose. It was far too seedy to attract any attention, and conveniently located in a sparsely populated neighborhood. There would be an occasional sound of a train passing by, since the motel was located near the tracks.

_That's okay_, he thought. _Small price to pay._He walked along a line of doors till he found his room. After hastily entering and shutting the door behind him, he placed the cardboard box on the table and pried it open. Inside the box lay a few origami figures, numbered, and a cell phone with a memory card. He inserted the card into the phone and waited with a breathless impatience. It took a few moments before the video loaded….Ethan could barely make out a drain covered with an iron grate and an indistinct silhouette of a child trapped inside.

A flash of lightening allowed him a split second glimpse of a young boy wearing a being coat and green pants. _Shaun!_ A message played on the screen - _How far are you prepared to go to save someone you love?_The instructions that followed were simple. _Five origami figures. Each figure is a trial. Each trial provides letters. The letters reveal an address._

He put the phone aside and picked up the first origami figure – The Eagle. His hands trembled as he unfolded it and read what was written inside.

**CAFÉ DE LA CRÈME.**

_I know this place._Ethan took the figure with him, and left with the single minded determination of finding his son. He barely noticed the woman he bumped into. Madison turned around. "I'm so sorry," she began and caught a glimpse of his face. _Ethan Mars….what a stroke of luck…._

* * *

"I'm sorry," the psychiatrist replied mechanically, "but the information of all my patients is strictly confidential." "That's not good now, is it?" Norman was beginning to get familiar with that tone in Blake's voice. Dr. Dupré was not going to wake up with a complete set of teeth the next morning.

_Say it doc, just say it,_he mutely implored the man. Norman's inexperience with telepathy proved to be tragic when Blake rammed a fist into Dr. Dupré's nose, and blood started flowing down as a reminder of the horrific impact. "How dare you…." he gasped in a whisper. "I happen to be a very daring man, doc! Now are you going to…"

"What I'm going to do is call the police. I am aware of my rights and…"

"Police? Who the hell d'ya think broke your nose? Santa Claus?" Blake roared and knocked the phone out of his reach

"We are the police, Dupré!". _Shit, he's crazy!_Norman sprang out of his chair. "Blake!" The Lieutenant found pulling the shrink across the desk, scattering files everywhere more involving than listening to Norman. But Norman was as eager to make himself heard as Blake was in ripping Dr. Dupré to bits.

Blake never anticipated the shove coming, and staggered with the imbalance. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Norman? Don't wanna save the kid, huh?" "I want to save Shaun Mars just as much as you do, but that doesn't give me the freedom to do what I like, so you're gonna stop this shit, right now!"

"Stay the hell out of this, Norman!" Blake hollered when he bent to help the doctor up. "YOU stay out of this, Blake!" _Jesus, this man's a fuckin' FBI boyscout. I don't know what prevents me from…._

Norman tried to reason with Dupré. "A child's life depends on this, Dr. Dupré. You've got to help us." Realizing the futility of resisting, Dr. Dupré spoke about Ethan having psychological problems since the death of his first son, about how he holds himself responsible, and has those visions of drowning bodies. The doctor staggered towards his desk and rummaged through some files before pulling out a red folder. "Take this…and please leave…"He handed it over. Blake greedily snatched it.

They were making their way down the steps when Norman felt something warm and sticky trickle down his nose. _Blood…oh, hell!_He quickly pressed his handkerchief against the flow. "There's some real good shit in here," Blake said as he flipped through Ethan's file. Norman secretly wished he'd trip while reading it. Blake turned around. "Looks like Mars in our man!"

"You said the same thing about Korda." They sat in the car. "Yeah, well," Blake shrugged, "that was before his airtight alibis came up and he became old news." He paused to turn the ignition. "What's with the handkerchief? You gotta cold coming?" "You can say that…."

Norman blinked. His vision was getting blurry, the headaches, the heavy breathing and the withdrawals were worsening by the minute. He could barely wait to get to his room, and have the Triptocaine.

"Uhh….Blake?" You'll have to drop me off at the hotel. I don't feel too…." "Sure!" Blake said, a little too obligingly. "I'll join you later…." "Don't bother. I've got it all handled." Norman could barely hear Blake now. It was as if he was talking through a wall. "Ash, I want you to assign every available man to finding Ethan Mars….man outside his place…..notify all agencies…every cop….on his ass…"

Norman wasn't listening to any of it. He watched the gloomy surroundings through the car window, dissolving into an unclear haze. He closed his eyes. _Bastard just wants me out of his hair._

* * *

Grace wandered aimlessly in the crowded street. She did not have the courage to go back to an empty house. _I'd rather be alone in the crowd._Her car was still parked outside the police station. The rain caressed her hair, before streaming down her forehead to mingle with her tears and finally dribble down her face in rapid drops. Looking back, she was beginning to regret that she had gone to the station.

_I acted on impulse, not on logic….how could I even think that Ethan had anything to do with the killings? But then again, why was he acting so odd? So secretive?_ She stopped walking. _Should I go back and tell Lieutenant Blake it was a mistake? But then, if Ethan's innocent, they'll just ask him a few questions and let him go, right?_

Grace felt lost. _I don't know what's right or wrong anymore._ It took a few rings for her to realize that she was getting a call. She ducked under the awning of a nearby shop. "Hello?" Grace covered her other ear to block out the sound of traffic, people and the rain. "Is that Doctor Dupré?"

* * *

Café De La Crème was a beautiful and partially open air café, which served a large variety of coffee from around the world. Ethan found it vaguely familiar. Maybe he had been here before with Grace….and the kids. A nauseating feeling of guilt swept through him. _I ruined it. I took apart everything I had with my bare hands._

The biting cold wind engulfed him as he stepped out of the car and walked warily towards the café. There weren't too many people at the place. It looked like it was closing down soon. The sharp ringing of his cell phone jolted his senses. It was from a private number. "Hello?" "Ethan Mars…" It was a cold, robotic voice. Ethan felt his heart give a fierce leap.

"You have arrived for your first trial."

"Who is this?" Ethan demanded frantically. "…..you are to head to the counter, introduce yourself and take what you're given," the voice continued. He realized that it was a pre-recorded message and awaited further instructions. There were none. Pocketing the phone, he walked briskly towards the main counter.

"I'm Ethan Mars," he urgently began. "Oh yeah," said the bored woman at the counter, "here's your coffee." Ethan blinked. "Coffee?"

"Yeah….coffee in a café. Big surprise, huh?" "Who asked you to…." "I dunno….my shift just began and I was told to give this to you. Its already been paid for." "Okay, right…", he nodded and walked out of there with it.

It was a large cup of coffee, a perfectly harmless looking one. Ethan took a hesitating sip. The coffee tasted peculiar, bitter even. Fighting against his better judgment, Ethan drained the cup hollow to find a note taped inside. He pulled it out and read it. _Take a bus from Wendell Street to Falbrooke station .You have 5 minutes._

He staggered and momentarily held on to the table for support. _What was in that coffee?_His heart pounded fiercely as he walked unsteadily towards his car. _Shaun…I have to find my son. Focus!_ Wendell Street was five miles away. _Five miles in five minutes. Doable._

As the speed of the car accelerated with his pulse rate, Ethan wondered if that growing restlessness within was because of the coffee he had, or because time was running out, second by second.

* * *

I am trying to keep the trials original for the fan fic. Kinda difficult thinking of new ones…. so ya, a li'l nervous. Please keep the comments coming. I'm listening!


	3. The Chase

Thanks to all those who commented! :) I would love to have more coming in! Please type 'em! Make a girl happy! :D

* * *

Norman struggled to put one foot in front of the other. _Man up, it's only a few more steps._He would later hope the hotel staff found nothing odd about his behavior. As of now, he had to focus on unlocking the door to his room, a task his trembling hands were making an ordeal.

A faint clicking sound and the sudden movement of a door suggested to his darkening vision that he was inside his room. Norman kicked the door shut and dug into his pocket for the Triptocaine. It was only a brief moment that separated his urgent need for the drug and the instant gratification that pulsed through his veins once he satiated the need.

He wasn't sure whether he froze or it was time itself when the vial slipped through his fingers, rolling down his trouser, till it fell near his foot with a clinking sound. Norman's desperation worsened with those headaches as he clumsily bent down to pick up the vial.

A sense of horror descended upon his much before his mind could fathom what had happened. The sound of glass crunching filled his ear and he lifted his foot to see the powdery mass of white and blue under it. The last of his strength left him as he sank to the ground.

_How could you be so stupid? How could you "accidentally" crush your vial?_Norman weakly tried crawling to the drawer by his bed-side, which had the rest of the Triptocaine, the agony overpowering him. He couldn't make it.

The comforting warmth of his hotel room suddenly faded away, replacing it with a cold, grey room with bunker beds. _No, not again…..please…._A young boy, not more than 10, was straddling across his stomach. _Grab his arms and legs,_he said to the other boys. Norman helplessly struggled against their grip. They were too strong, far too strong. _Lemme go,_he screamed helplessly.

The boy clamped his hand firmly on his mouth. _Not so tough anymore, are you, scumbag?_The tip of the knife felt cold against his right cheek and he knew at once what was going to happen to him. He had fought wildly and fiercely, though in vain, as the pain became more unbearable, his cries ruthlessly stifled and the blood stained the pillow crimson.

When a strange white light flashed in the back of his head, Norman instinctively knew that it was his last moment conscious. As he got sucked deeper into that familiar black hole, his last fleeting thought was of relief and gratitude….

* * *

Kathy Conley regarded Grace Garner with a certain degree of confusion. _First she comes here with her ex to report about their missing kid, them comes here to report about the ex, and then comes yet again to retract the statement! The woman's a freakin' pendulum!_

Blake seemed to agree. "Why did you come to us earlier, then?" he asked. Grace knew she would sound fickle while answering this one. "I was scared! I didn't know what to make of his behavior! But he could never hurt Shaun…," she insisted."We'll find out soon enough when we find him."

"He is only a suspect! Why are you and your men hunting for him as if you have no other lead?" Grace began to feel a growing sense of panic. She had really not realized that the case was being handled by a barbarian. "We're simply pursuing a lead which you, yourself gave us!" Blake countered. This woman was beginning to piss him off...

But Kathy felt an unexpected surge of admiration for Grace. No one had the courage to look Lieutenant Carter Blake in the eye and use that tone with him. **Carter's Bitches** – that was her secret nickname for the entire department. The only other person she knew to have stood up to Blake was Norman.

"Would you let us do our job? You will be informed if we come up with something!" Grace gaped in open-mouthed disbelief. "You expect me to sit at home, by the phone, waiting for your call? Despite knowing that my son can die, knowing that we are running out of time and don't have the remotest idea where he is!"

"Yes, that is exactly what I expect you to do!" Blake snapped. There was an angry, tense silence between them and Kathy relished it. She knew it was a sadistic feeling, but felt a certain delight in spiting Blake or seeing someone else do it. Those instances had been rare, though.

"I think we're done here," Blake said and abruptly got up to leave. "What other leads do you _have_, Lieutenant?" Grace asked. He turned around. "That is privileged information….ma'am," he said with forced civility.

"Yet," Grace stood up herself, "you did not find it minutely unethical to use brutal means against a law-abiding citizen in order to derive the very privileged information you refuse to disclose?"_Yes,_Kathy decided, _I like this woman._

"Escort her out, Kathy," Blake hissed through gritted teeth. She gently took Grace by the elbow. "This way, ma'am." "My son will die!" Grace urgently protested, "Why doesn't anyone…" "We will find him," Kathy reassured, hoping she sounded more optimistic than she felt.

Grace pulled her arm away. "I can have that man reported for his conduct!" "That won't help you find your son…." Kathy was not going to tell her about Blake's rapport with Perry and how the animal savagery was just a routine part of his investigation.

"There must be something I can do!" Grace exclaimed. "You could do your own investigation; find your own clues…" Kathy had meant to give more consolatory than real advice, but going by the expression that crossed the other woman's face, she knew that the idea appealed to her. And it was beginning to appeal to her. _I need to find someone who can help me. Someone who will be able to defy that man inside!_

She remembered something that Dr. Dupré had told her. Something about an FBI profiler and how he came to his rescue. Why, she had been introduced to him earlier. _Of course!_ Grace slowly turned to face Kathy. If she was going to find that man, this courteous young detective seemed to be the right person to ask.

* * *

The last thing Officer Gary Holden wanted to do was patrol the streets for a supposed serial killer when he would rather just hang around at the Metropolitan Police Station and wait for Kathy to drop a pen, and then bend to pick it up.

Sadly, his optimism was always a few notches higher than the actual occurrence of the event. _Blake really knows how to ruin a party. He probably wants her all to himself anyway!_ It took one paranoid woman's statement to have all the stations on high alert for Ethan Mars. _Sure, like he's waiting to get caught. He's just gonna be sitting in some motel or strolling outside to say a quick hi._

"Holden, you listening?" Gary snapped out of his reverie. "Sorry?" "Just got radio'd about our man, Mars, breaking every traffic signal and heading towards Wendell Street."

"How do we know its him?" "Traffic cameras got a clear mug-shot." Holden straightened in his seat and turned on the siren. The wailing gave him a high every damn time. "Step on it!" he hollered!

Ethan heard the sirens approaching with growing panic. _I can't stop now!_ But he knew that this was just the beginning. The tires of the car screeched in protest as he desperately swerved around the corners. The tension refused to let up; the sirens were always within ear shot. Ethan wondered if he should just drive to Falbrooke to save time.

_No, don't do that! Just follow the instructions!_He could not have driven, even if he wanted to. It was getting difficult to drive…his muscles were beginning to twitch, his breathing and pulse rate quickening. He felt awful….simply awful. He could feel strange kinds of psychedelic lights pulse through his head, almost blinding him with its fierce stinging.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a child ran across the road. A child with a red balloon. _Jason!_He tried hitting the brakes, managing to stop only after a few yards. His eyes flew to the rear view mirror. There was nobody there…no child, no red balloon.

The street was deserted – as it always was, late at night. Ethan breathed in deeply, till his lungs ached in protest. _You're okay….you're okay…nothing happened…_ As the car picked up speed, Ethan found his movements getting increasingly disoriented. _Don't think! Whatever you do, don't think! You're almost there!_ He nearly cried out in relief when he saw the signboard for Wendell Street and a bus-stop farther ahead.

He took a moment, just a brief moment before stepping out of the car. "Excuse me…" he said to the hot dog vendor standing near the bus-stop, "does the bus to Falbrooke station go from here?" "It just left," the man replied. "You can still catch it if…"

Ethan ran like a man possessed, past the vendor, the various shops, through a dense crowd of people and traffic. He tried to ignore the burning pain in his legs and the suffocating tightness in his lungs. The whole world felt like one big blur as he ignored the protesting horns of vehicles, desperately looking for the bus.

Just then, the light turned green and the cars began to move. Ethan spotted the bus, the "Falbrooke station" signboard glowing in the dimly lit street. He ran frenetically through the moving rush, almost unaware of how narrowly the cars were missing him, with drivers shouting, "Watch it, asshole."

He could feel himself floating off the ground…. It felt as if he was on auto-pilot, it all looked so unreal – the sights, the sounds and the way he sprinted through the chaotic rush. He could see the bus again, and also saw two white orbs getting larger in front of his eyes, from small white spots, to globes and finally till there was a white screen in front of his eyes.

The blaring sound of the bus's horn filled his ear, and he instinctively swung out of its way. That very instinct betrayed him when he failed to dodge a speeding car, which smashed against his side. He howled in pain, the sharpness of it stabbing worse than a knife. Ethan spun unsteadily to the other side of the road, knowing he was going to be struck, despite the persistent honking and the urgent pressure applied on the brakes.

He was forcibly knocked off his feet, and flew over the car that had hit him, wildly twisting in the air before landing on the pavement with a sickening thud. The horrible pain followed, but Ethan was too spent to care. _It would be so easy,_he thought as he lay there. So much easier to wait till the police came and took him. So much easier to just….let go….

* * *

Thank you for reading! :) Dunno how it turned out, but I hope you liked it!


	4. Dammit!

Hi! This chapter's a bit longer than I intended it to be….all I can say is that I'm sorry, I know how difficult it can be to read long ones on this site. I just didn't have the heart to post a chapter with only one character dominating the show. While I'm not very thrilled with the way parts of it turned out, I promise that things will get better after this, plot-wise. Just hope to do justice to what's in my head and the reader's expectations (if there are any), in words.

If you are one of those readers who have regularly been following the story since the 1st chapter, I wanna say, "Tanks!" xD Please comment, I would love to have more. Brickbats, constructive criticism, tips to improve, and praise, ehnethin! Need I describe how happy I feel every time I get a review? :) "Don't be shy….I'm all ears!"

* * *

_Dad…._He opened his eyes and saw Jason standing there, over him, his red balloon waving ominously in the breeze. His face was grave and his voice plaintive as he called out to him again. _Come on, dad..._

Jason began making his way through the crowd surrounding them. Ethan staggered to his feet, ignoring the stabs of pain and the thick, viscous rivulet of blood trickling down his temple. The crowd and the traffic stood perfectly still, an unclear haze of sepia from another world, even as he made his way through, following his son with an unquestioned obedience towards a bright golden light.

"Sir…" Ethan stirred slightly. "Sir…are you alright?" He saw red spots dance before his eyes, before they became colorful and began to vaguely resemble a man.

"Fine….I'm fine." He tried propping himself in the seat, wincing slightly at the sharpness of the pain. It took him a few moments to realize that he was in a bus. "Is your name Ethan Mars?", the conductor asked, patiently. "Yes…" he struggled to say, his voice become repulsively hoarse for his own ear. He thrust his driving license out in clumsily, but in desperation.

"That won't be necessary," the man reassured, handing him over a bus as well as a train ticket. _Why a train ticket? Where am I supposed to be going from Falbrooke?_ He could not read the name of the station properly. "They've already been paid for." There was so much Ethan wanted to ask him, the answers being a key out of this mess….but the words never left his mouth, or when gasped, escaped the conductor's ear and he moved on ahead, this night being no different than the rest, for him.

Ethan crossed his uncontrollably twitching arms around his chest, and felt the bile rising to his throat. He saw an old woman spare him a curious glance, which began turning to one of grim distaste. He turned his face away, pressing his head against the cool glass of the window. _I'll be okay…this will all be okay…_The red and blue spots danced around his eyes, and to his disoriented sensibilities, they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

* * *

All Madison had wanted to do was follow Ethan to find out where he was going and why he was at Crossroads. The last thing she expected to see was having him drive like a maniac with the cops hot on his heels. And there was a brief moment of horror as well, when he got mowed down by a car, followed by a miraculous one when he picked himself up again and ran into a bus.

_Never seen a man run this fast before._ Holden and Dean were close behind too. If it wasn't for the helpful hot dog vendor, they would be on a wild goose chase for the occupant of an abandoned Honda Accord near Wendell Street. Madison could hear the faint sound of sirens.

_Mars is in big trouble. _When the bus stopped at Falbrooke, she waited impatiently till Ethan alighted unsteadily from the bus and entered the station. Madison briskly elbowed her way through the crowd, barely able to keep him in her line of vision. Three cops rushed past her onto the escalator and into a waiting train that she saw Ethan getting into.

_This is happening way too fast!_ The doors of the train slid shut; separating Madison from what could have been the scoop of the year. "Dammit!" She pounded against the glass with her fist, watching it leave the station till she got an idea.

_The train goes over a bridge, within a minute! I can still follow it to the next station! _If there was going to be a dramatic arrest, Madison Paige would be damned if she was going to miss it. _The things I do for a good story._

* * *

Something odd had happened to Norman as he lay there, unsure of where he was. The room kept changing color, taking him back and forth between the dull grey of the orphanage and the more reassuring yellow lights of his suite. _God, my head hurts…_

His shirt clung to him from the cold sweat, though his hands had mercifully stopped trembling. But he was still zoning in and out of consciousness, praying in every moment of awakeness for this to end. The door to the room opened and he weakly recoiled, half-expecting the warden from the orphanage walk in.

He had hated that man, hated the way he used to furtively place his hand on his thigh, and had that look of perverted hunger in his eyes. No, instead the form stepping in seemed angelic against the harsh light crackling behind her.

It seemed like an angel for she had flaming red hair, mingled with copper like fire burning against dark wood, contrasting with her fair skin. Her large brown eyes were wide with the concern he had never seen anyone have for him. He was not sure if he was imagining this, it all seemed so unclear and hazy.

But her arms felt real, like protective coils around him, unfamiliar yet comforting in their embrace, taking him away from the hell that had once been his temporary home.

The last thing he felt vaguely aware of was the taste of a little salty sludge as it dribbled down his mouth into the wash basin, the feel of cold wind on his back, and the rustling whisper of his coat and shirt as it was tugged off and flung away.

* * *

Ethan Mars hadn't the faintest idea that there were cops a few coaches behind him in the same train. Even if he did, he probably wouldn't care, because he was feeling extremely sick now. _How the hell am I going to finish this?_ The phone rang again and Ethan answered with growing despair.

"The train will cross a bridge in less than a minute," the voice droned. "You are to stop the train and jump off the bridge. Your reward is taped to a pillar supporting the bridge_._" The line went dead again._ What! This is crazy! _Ethan unsteadily pushed the cell phone back into his pocket.

The coach had a somnolent atmosphere. All the passengers were sitting calmly, exhausted after a grueling day. They did not bother about a helpless looking man with a stubble, stumbling drunkenly towards the door. _There's no way you're doing this!_ The train was approaching the bridge. _You won't find Shaun by breaking a few bones!_

The faint tremors of the train were replaced by thunderous rumbling which meant it was crossing the bridge. Ethan rammed his palm against the red emergency button and began prying the door open. The protesting shouts of the few passengers in the coach were all one or all nothing to him, when, with a triumphant cry he pushed the doors apart and came to the edge of the door.

_There's still time, Ethan. Think about it! _It would be quite a leap….quite a gamble. He had to take that chance. All he had to do was jump. And he did.

Right onto the muddy embankment, the hard impact proving to be an almost crushing blow to his arms and ribs. A fiery pain seared his veins, as if wanting to escape through the restrictive covering of his skin, finding release only in his anguished cries.

* * *

Madison watched in shocked silence as a man jumped out of the train. _No goddamn way!_ She turned her bike in that direction. The night was beginning to get crazier….

* * *

Grace's eyes never left Norman since she had entered the room. Her anxiety to find her son had been temporarily replaced by apprehension on finding a writhing man on the floor. He was heavier than he looked, something Grace was to realize after she had struggled to lift him off the ground and hold his head over the basin while he emptied what seemed to be his innards into it.

_I don't want to know_; Grace shuddered, and averted her gaze from the sight. She had an arguably more difficult task ahead, of helping him out of his soiled shirt, into a cleaner one, her gaze still averted, even as he staggered and momentarily slumped against her.

_He is so pale; _she observed when she caught a glimpse of his bare torso while buttoning him up,_ why didn't I notice this before? _He also had a scar near his left rib, larger and deeper than the one on his cheek, but Grace chose not to dwell on that.

A doctor's instinct compelled her to search for the cause, of what were most obviously drug withdrawals, after she eased him onto the bed. The crushed vial and Triptocaine were not too difficult to find. Grace carefully examined the residue after collecting it in a tissue.

_Pale blue powder…is it barbiturates?_ She looked up on hearing him groan slightly and mumble something. None of it had made any sense….he had been murmuring something about a cane, or tripping over a cane, since she had arrived.

Dr. Hutton has mentioned to her that this man was the more reasonable and stable of the two cops who had come asking about Ethan. _Far from it! For a psychiatrist, he couldn't have been more off the mark. _Grace had to admit that she was more than horrified at the choice of investigating officers for the case. But she needed this man…he was possibly the last option she had to find her son alive.

He seemed to be stirring. It would only be a matter of moments before she could speak to him. _Thank goodness!_ She nervously paced around the room, then the bed, somewhat feeling like a predatory shark as she tried to prepare herself for all the possible outcomes of this encounter.

* * *

Loved it? Hated it? Thought it could be better? Let me know! All comments (except very offensive ones) will be appreciated!


	5. Whatever it takes

Hi! I'm so grateful for all the reviews I got for the fourth chapter! Of course, a huge thank you to Betty Royale, mythstoorfoot and Chyrstis for reviewing the previous chapters with unfailing regularity. You kept me going, girls! I'm genuinely overwhelmed by the reviews "Dammit!" managed to "Garner" (dunno why I did that! :D) I would like to begin by thanking Sheik927 for such a lovely review! I will try to keep all your suggestions in mind! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! :) Also, Vinayak for an honest review! Mucho gracias to you too! Also to OdyFreesin! Thank you! And cassie! Thanks! 3 :D

Haha! Hiya, cowboy! Yer hooves of high praise thundered across my screen! Ye made this lass mighty pleased, ye did! Hope to lasso in better chapters fer ye and fer the other pardners out there! Thank you for your review! I'm so very glad that you're enjoying the proceedings! :D

Thank you too, Jim Slade! Gosh, a novel? I don't know…never knew I was fit for writing one! :D A book signing? :) Wow….that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever told me. I'm very touched… :)

I deeply appreciate the fact that all of you took so much of your valuable time out to read and review the fan fic. For this, I will love you all forever, till the day I die! :D Please keep the reviews coming! They are such a major motivating factor that goads me to write faster!

PS : A special thanks to mythstoorfoot for pointing out a grammatical error in the previous chapter. It has been duly noted and corrected. Just shows how attentive you are! :D

PS 2 : This is a long chapter. I am so sorry for the inconvenience, esp. to those readers who do not like them long. :( I just wanted to finish a crucial scene in this chapter, anyhow! The ball starts rolling from the next chapter.

* * *

Ethan shifted his weight from his side to his stomach. _No bones broken._ He checked the cell phone. _Nor is the cell….good…_ His fingers dug into the soft earth like anchors, and pulled him forward. _Just find the reward…its gotta be around here somewhere. _He found it at last, a sim card taped to the top most pillar of the embankment, the one closest to the road. Peeling it off, he inserted it into the phone. The screen went blank, before revealing random alphabets on the screen.

_ 5 _ / _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _/ R _ _ _ E _ _ _ T/ _ _ _ _

_Except they aren't random. That's a part of the address! _Ethan leaned against the pillar, gasping for breath, before continuing the arduous climb up the embankment. He barely took a step forward when his leg twisted and he fell into the mud. The cell phone got knocked out of his hands and slid out of his reach, down the slope.

He cried out in frustration and cursed till he ran out of breath. There was no energy left within, for him to crawl all the way down and retrieve it.

* * *

_Is he dead? _Madison wondered as she climbed down the embankment. The road was deserted at that hour and it would only be a matter of time before the cops would reach the spot. _I'll beat it before they arrive. They'll think I'm an accomplice if I don't! But I just wanna see if he's alright!_

She cautiously made her way down the embankment. He lay there, not moving even as she approached him, lying face down in the mud. "Mars?" She knelt beside him. "Ethan Mars?" His face was muddy and eyes wild as he raised his head to look at her. _Shit, he's a mess._ He was trying to say something to her, as he feebly pointed somewhere down the slope.

"Down there….please….it's a…" Madison cut him short. "You want me to get something for you from down there?" He had sounded so breathless; she preferred to complete the statement for him. "I'll – I'll get it, okay? You just, you know, just…oh, never mind…"The mud was slippery and her sneakers squelched with the wetness. It was quite an effort to lift one foot off the ground and place it in front of the other. _Just take care not to fall into the water._

Ethan felt two pairs of hands hauling him off the ground, another handcuffing him and a voice from somewhere far away telling him his rights. _Where's the woman? The goddamn phone's with her!_ He tried to scream, shout, call out to her, but there was neither the voice nor the strength within him for that. The panic building up within him was his own, to endure. They roughly shoved him into the police car, relieved that the long chase was finally over. Madison emerged from the lower pillar of the embankment, clutching the phone to her chest.

_That was a narrow escape. If they'd seen me with him…_ She wiped the muddy cell against her jacket. An instinct inside told her there's more to it than what was evident…that she should keep this phone instead of turning it over to the police. Madison Paige had always listened to her instinct. It kept her out of trouble, though occasionally getting her into it as well. But there was no reason for her to stop listening.

* * *

It took a cold gust of breeze, tempered with equally chilly drops of rain to interrupt Grace's thoughts. She walked up to the open window, letting the wind and the rain hammer into her briefly, in a strange act of defiance. The sky outside covered the city like a great black shroud of impending doom, the rain pouring down from it like a thick curtain and like a sinister accomplice.

The knowledge that Shaun was under the same sky, getting drenched in the same rain distressed her. _You're running out of time!_ The window was a little difficult to unlatch and pull down. When she pulled little harder, it came whishing down like a guillotine. Grace could have sworn she would have lost her fingers if she had not pulled them away in time.

She barely recovered from the suddenness of it all, when she saw the reflection of a man in the glass. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. She spun around with a small scream, feeling relieved and momentarily stupid on finding Norman standing there, looking and sounding more authoritative than when she first found him. Grace hesitantly stepped into the light and saw a flicker of recognition cross his face.

She still felt the need to introduce herself. "My name is Grace Garner. I'm –" "Shaun Mars's mother," Norman said, an immediate reaction prompted by memory. She had been the one who had helped him…..she had been "the angel"…_ Shit! What does she want now?_

"Are you alright?" she asked, the concern in her voice not quite matching her expression. "What do you want?" Norman countered, a little too harshly. But he'd rather speak about anything….anything at all, as long as it wasn't about his state of health. _I have to get her out of here. She shouldn't know a thing…_ "I need your help….to find my son." She sounded awkward and nervous. _And ridiculous!_ Norman declared, unsure if he even heard her correctly. He felt rather awkward himself, standing before her, shirt untucked, disheveled hair and a raw throat, with traces of grogginess – all a humiliating reminder of what had happened.

"We –", he paused to clumsily tuck his shirt inside his trousers, "-we are looking for him…" He felt his skin burn under his pores and his fingers tremble, this time from a troubling nervousness as he tucked the last of the folds in. "Does attacking innocent citizens count?" Norman looked up in shock, though he wished he hadn't. It was the way she stood with that blazing look in her eyes that triggered an instinctive fear within him. He had begun to realize that the night was not going to end well for him.

"Things…did get out of hand," he began cautiously. _Why do you even bother? Does this woman look like she's gonna buy the shit?_ "….but we are doing our best." _How the hell do I get her to leave?_ He stiffened and uncomfortably so, when she took a few steps towards him. "If your best," she breathed through gritted teeth, "is to use violent means to make people talk and zero in on any potential suspect as if he was a criminal, and quarrel with your partner on the investigation methods, then I won't say I'm surprised at the number of victims the killer has already claimed."

She waited for his answer, impatiently drawing in deep breaths and swallowing those suffocating sobs that threatened to tear out of her throat. It was the most difficult thing to do at that time. What Grace really wanted to do was shake the agent by his shoulders, strike him across the face, curse him with all the profanity she had a reluctant knowledge of, and then fall to his feet, begging for his help, till all powers of coherent speech left her.

Norman tried another ill-fated attempt at an explanation, though the knots tightening and squeezing his stomach muscles with an intensifying force were urging him otherwise. "I understand your desperation, Ms. Garner, but…" "Don't you dare…" she softly said, the menacing tone becoming more threatening than Blake's. "Don't you ever dare tell me you know what it's like…"

_What the fuck am I supposed to do then? _Norman drew in an impatient breath, wondering if a few more reassurances would be enough to get her out of the suite. "I need to find my son alive, Agent Jayden…and for that I expect you to help me." Grace felt her voice crack, and tried to conceal it by punctuating her statement with a cough.

"How, exactly?" he asked, not sure if it was the right time to raise his hand and comb his hair into place. He finally decided against it. Grace's posture relaxed slightly, he noticed. Only slightly. "I need to know what clues you have in hand. That's the starting point." _What?_ He was frowning now, surprised that the exclamation had unintentionally tumbled out of his mouth. "Clues," she repeated, lifelessly. "I – I…" He consciously straightened up. He had to look like a man in charge of the situation. Yet there was something disconcerting about the woman's presence, as she stood there tall, stately and bold.

"I can't do that," he said, finally. She was, after all, asking for the impossible. One couldn't possibly bend the rules for every desperate parent of a victim. _Now please get the hell out of here. _He had had enough for one day. "My son's life depends on this…" Grace began, and cringed at the pleading tone. She had to stand up to him. _He _had to blink first. "I sympathize with your situation, Ms. Garner," Norman carefully began, expecting her to flare up. She didn't.

"It is extremely painful to deal with the loss of someone you love…and I cannot even begin to imagine the extent of your pain." He noticed with a sense of satisfaction that her look softened and her head tilted faintly to the side. _Keep talking…you have her attention…this is the most crucial part… _"Though much as I would like to help you, my hands are tied…I'm bound by rules."

He felt sorry for her…..he did, but talking to her right now only meant wasting more time. Norman slowly backed towards the door, his hand reaching for the knob as he continued to speak to her. "We don't have much time, Ms. Garner. It's running out as we speak…" His hand closed around the knob.

Grace wanted to scream at him. _He's no different than that brute with a badge…_ Her fist tightened around the tissue she had been holding. The tissue with the crushed glass and blue powder. He was no one to tell her what to do…he sure as hell was no saint. Norman opened the door, leaving it temptingly ajar, still talking, though Grace wasn't listening.

The empathy tactic was not working on her anymore. Her eyes moved from Norman to the door and back at him. There was still a choice for her. She could walk out the door and both of them could pretend this never happened. Her tight grip made the knuckles go white. _I won't let you die, Shaun…_ No, there was no turning back from this, now._ Mommy's going to find you Shaun…whatever it takes._

"You may shut the door, Agent Jayden…" Grace was relieved to have her voice back in control. "I'm not leaving." Norman felt himself at the breaking point of every positive emotion. "Look here, Ms. Garner…" he began. "Shut that door or the entire hotel will know…" "About what?" he shot back.

Grace raised and opened her right fist to reveal what was her last card…one she never thought she'd have to use. "About this…" There was a wildness in his eyes that momentarily unnerved her. "There's some crushed glass and powder in here…I'm guessing it's illegal."

She shivered slightly at the sound when he banged the door shut, and swept across the room towards her, his hand outstretched. "Give it back!" he demanded. His eyes widened as she backed into the wall and slipped the crumpled tissue-pouch into the pocket of her trousers.

"You shouldn't deal with something you don't know about. The material in your possession is highly dangerous…." "I actually found it in your possession, Agent Jayden! Maybe you'd like to explain how it got there!" She hoped she wasn't sounding as scared as she felt.

Norman felt a cold, invisible hand reach for his throat and squeeze it dry. _Fuck!_ He could sense all his abilities of rational speech betraying him. Grace felt herself flinch slightly. Something told her that his reaction would have been different, more violent, had she been a man. She carefully backed closer to the wall, putting more space between them and thankful for the much-needed support the wall was providing.

Norman opened his mouth to speak, struggling hard to remain calm and to think of something. _You're a goner if you show her you're desperate._ He would have rather endured those Triptocaine-induced hallucinations and blinding headaches again. Hell, he would've rather lived his entire life all over again, every detail unchanged. _Don't waste time, say something!_

"I need it for my blood pressure!" The words were out, in rapid, unclear succession and as abrupt as a gun shot. "It's nothing illegal," he added lamely, knowing it sounded moronic but hoping against hope that it didn't. Except it did. It was more than Grace's common sense that had her rejecting the excuse outright. "I'm a doctor…and I know drug withdrawals when I see one."

It was the final nail in the coffin. Norman could hear the death knell for his career and feel his heart sink. "It's not a drug!" he protested, the urgency in his voice now clear and present. Grace was unmoved. "Look," Norman nervously ran his hands down his face, "you don't understand…I need these, okay? They keep the blood pressure down…and relieve stress."

"Oh, please stop!" Grace almost sobbed, arguably more agitated than the harassed agent. "I'm not as stupid as you'd like to believe, Agent Jayden! It's not putting you in a very good light!" She pulled the tissue of her pocket and raised it, as if to prove a point. "Judging by what your 'medicine' does to you, the FDA would've had these off the shelves overnight. You say that it's dangerous, yet you say it's legal. Something doesn't quite add up."

Norman swiftly moved towards her, and failed to snatch it away in time. Grace had been faster than he anticipated, as she quickly moved out of his way, her hands possessively clasping the tissue behind her back. "I can take this up with the press! Would that be too embarrassing for the Bureau?"

"Christ, no!" He was rooted to the spot, shocked at how this woman was stopping at nothing, a stark contrast to that traumatized mother in the station. "Please…" He knew he sounded more helpless than reasonable, but was beyond the point of caring now. "You don't have to go to the press!" The corner of her mouth seemed to twitch into a cruel smirk. Or at least it seemed so, to Norman.

"I need a reason not to." Had the circumstances not been so largely limiting, she would have smiled. Norman was finally playing ball. He walked past her to sit at the edge of the bed, his hands grasping at the bed sheets in fistfuls. It was over…and Norman knew when he had been taken. The odds were against him. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

_You've won this round, lady…but you can't win them all._ He opened his eyes, and Grace was surprised to find them clear and piercing, boring into her with a look that was both accusatory and resolute. "What the hell do you want from me?" "Your co-operation…I would like to join you in your investigation with the reassurance that I will be discrete and I will not be an impediment in any way."

Grace wished it hadn't been like this. She had never wanted things to come to such a pass. Norman uttered a barely audible "Fine". "This is blackmail," he said to her as he got up. "I hope you realize this." Grace began shaking her head before he had even finished. "Your career for my son…I'd rather call it a fair bargain."

Norman gaped at her incredulously. _I have to find a way to shake her off later! _His cell phone vibrated insistently from his bed-side table and Grace gestured to him, to pick it up. Not that he needed her permission. "Norman Jayden, FBI," he answered, his eyes still fixed on her. She broke away from the gaze, relieved that a small but important part of her ordeal was over. But a certain self-repulsion outweighed the relief. _I don't want to ruin anyone's life…I just want to see my son again…_The FBI agent may have his flaws, and she was the one who now had the power to manipulate his fate. This was beginning to frighten her.

She was now no longer different from the Lieutenant or from the agent now. _And to think you were condemning their lack of ethics a while ago._ Norman ended the call, hurriedly pocketing the phone. "News for you," he called out to her. "What is it?" She felt the nausea sweep over her, the sensation now increasingly familiar. He slipped on his coat before answering. "They've got Mars." Grace nodded her head. "What are we waiting for?"


	6. Dazed

So…I'm back with a 6th chapter! :) And I'm very thankful for all the kind reviews for "Whatever it takes". I was very unsure about how it would be received. Thank you, Betty Royale for the correction! Duly noted! :) Maybe I should have a contest, or something. Deliberately put in spelling errors to see who can spot the maximum ones. :D And the winner will get….will get….gah, I dunno! It's late in the night, I'm not exactly in the pink of health and I have tons of work to do later!

I owe a sincere "thank you" to mythstoorfoot (sure, I'll try to leave more paras! Thanks!), Betty Royale, OdyFreesin, Chyrstis, urban cowboy, Jim Slade (really wish I could post a chapter a day too! And you are very generous with your praise…thank you so much…) and netherlady. And….greased lightning! Whom I have apparently deprived of a good night's sleep. Hehe, I'm evil, aren't I? ;D Thank you! I'm flattered by your eagerness to read more! You're all amazing!

Please keep those comments coming! I would really wanna know what everyone thinks of my chapters. Lends a certain objectivity…and keeps me from either falling in love with what I've written (doesn't happen often!) or making me tear the book apart (hasn't…exactly happened yet). Pointers are most welcome! Remember, I'd love to improve. And I'll just love you all generally for commenting! :D

Yes, this chapter is long again….and my writer's block is still on! So…ya, nervous about how this turned out. :)

* * *

The last two years of his life had rendered Ethan Mars to be a man full of regrets. Regret at ever having gone to the mall that fateful day with Grace and the kids, for being the cause of pain to his family, for not being there for Grace and Shaun when they needed him the most, for not being a good father and husband. And, above all, to have ever let Shaun out of his sight… But when Blake slammed the last of his jaw-crushing punches into his face before some foul-smelling puke and a little blood gushed out of his mouth onto the floor of the interrogation room, Ethan had begun to regret the day he was ever born.

Kathy winced slightly at the sight, watching it all from behind the one-way mirror. "We're better here than there," Detective James Ash said, just for the sake of filling the silence. Kathy returned the slight smile he sent her way. "What the fuck are you guys doing?" she said as she turned abruptly to face the officers standing behind. "Get someone to clean up in there!"

"Last chance, Mars. Where-is-Shaun?" "I already told you," Ethan whimpered, "I don't know." Blake's fist connected with his jaw, the white hot impact threatening to be the only sensation he would feel for a long time.

"He's gonna be flat in a few minutes," Kathy said to Ash. "Round two will take a while to build up. I'm gonna go grab some coffee. You want some?"

"No thanks, I'm good," Ash replied, his focus still on Blake and Ethan.

"The hell you are, sucker!" Kathy chuckled and punched his shoulder on her way out. She filled herself a cup and languidly strolled around the station, stretching her sore legs. It took a few sips to have her contorting her face in disgust. _It really is getting worse by the day, isn't it?_

"Kathy!" She looked up to find Norman call out to her as he quickly walked in, and to her surprise, saw Grace follow close behind. "I'm guessing Ash told you everything?" she asked as he caught up with her.

"Where's Mars?" he asked, breathlessly. "He's in the griller…and Blake's doing the cooking." "Fuck!" he cursed and began making his way to the interrogation room, only to turn around as an afterthought. Kathy raised an eyebrow, confused and Grace stood there self-consciously, just as puzzled.

"Take her to my office," Norman said to Kathy. His glance shifted to Grace. "Go with her, and stay there. Wait till I come back." He barely acknowledged her weary nod, more concerned about finding Ethan in a recognizably human form, and ask him some real questions before Blake buried him alive. The soft tapping of his shoes, the persistent ringing of the phones and the rain outside were the only pre-dominant sounds to be heard as he walked down the jarringly white and sanitized corridor towards "the griller". The day just seemed to get better. Norman was _really_ going to look forward to the rest of his stay.

_I like the city even more now…with every passing goddamn second._

* * *

Grace felt slightly muddled about the exchange between Norman and Kathy, though she had a fair idea about what was happening.

"How is he?" she asked Kathy.

"Sorry?"

"How is Ethan?"

She gestured to Grace, to follow her, before answering. "It's too soon to say. You'll probably find out during visitation, which won't happen anytime soon. He's under intensive questioning, and they aren't finished with him yet."

Kathy stopped walking, and Grace realized with an awkward jerk that they had reached Norman's office. The detective pushed open the door and stepped aside to let her in. Grace looked around the room, with an expression of complete disbelief. "This…this is his office?"

_My sentiments exactly, _Kathy sighed inwardly. "Yes, it is," she replied with a polite smile. Grace darted a disapproving look around what had evidently been the storage room. _He must be feeling really welcome here._ Kathy cleared her throat to get her attention.

"I'll take your leave, then?" There was a discomfiting silence in the room, and something told her she would not be excused so soon. "Could you spare me a minute, Detective?" Grace asked tentatively. Kathy quietly shut the door behind her. The conversation seemed to be one requiring discretion. "Sure."

"Where did you find Ethan?" Grace asked, with an air of a conspirator. Kathy bit her lip, unsure about how much she should be telling Grace. The woman did have a right to know…the man in question was the father of her child. "We found him on an embankment…right after he flung himself out of a train." Grace blinked. Kathy saw the color drain from her face. "We also found traces of cocaine in his blood," she added hastily, and regretted it.

Grace blinked again. She could feel something uncomfortably pressing against her head, from the inside. "I - I need to sit down." Kathy helpfully pulled out a chair for her, but Grace found it easier to ease herself backwards onto the table, and bury her face in her hands. She could not, rather, did not want to believe a word of what Kathy had said to her.

"I have known Ethan…" Grace paused to press her palms to her eyes, "since high school." She was tired…she was so tired. Nothing felt good anymore. Not even the simple feel of warm hands over aching eyes. She withdrew them. "He has never done drugs…he was always a law-abiding citizen…and this is all my fault…"

"None if this is you fault. I would have done the same thing." Kathy reassured her. She really did want to help her. Two years and eight victims…it did not really inspire confidence among any parents of the victims. Hell, even Kathy did not feel very optimistic about the investigation anymore. Maybe there was a way to help her out.

Grace could really do with all that she could get. Except, of course, the Met police wouldn't exactly be bending over backwards for her. Kathy pulled a card out of pocket. She could not see how this would help…there were no clues, absolutely nothing to go on. _You are giving a mother hope and strength for the next 72 hours. It should count for something._

Grace saw something white slide across the table towards her, from the corner of her eye. She looked at it, then at Kathy with a questioning glance.

"You will need it," the detective said to her. Grace inspected the card in the harsh, white light of the room. It was difficult to read through moist eyes. There was something written there…something about a private investigator. The name was Scol…no, Scott Shelby…

"Is there anything else I can do?" Kathy asked, slowly walking towards the door now. "No." Grace pulled her phone out, never looking away from the card. "I have all I need." She heard the door close and began to dial the number on the card. The phone was out of network coverage. After dialing a few more times, she gave up. Grace leaned further into the wall, trying to ignore the sound of the pouring rain. No matter how long Norman took to return, she would always remember that night for being the longest wait of her life.

* * *

"I think I was managing perfectly fucking well before you turned up!" Blake thundered, at Norman. Ash sank lower into his seat. _I really shouldn't have called him up. So much for keeping the FBI informed. _

"Did I miss anything?" Kathy asked, taking her place next to him.

"Our little bureaucrat walked in on the party and decided to play Captain America."

"You still did the right thing by calling him."

"Did I, Ms. Conley?" Ash grinned and she felt herself go scarlet.

"It's not what you think, Ash. You did your duty…and for now Ethan Mars seems to have been saved a good hiding."

Ethan looked more spent and battered than she last saw him. _He's just on the brink of consciousness._

"For now." Ash stifled a yawn. "Only for now".

"Beating the shit outta Mars isn't gonna help us find the kid!" Norman hollered over Blake's tirade. He was finding it increasingly infuriating to raise his voice, to make himself heard.

"What the fuck do you wanna do, Jayden? Mollycoddle and breastfeed him while I shake the rattles over his head?" Blake's outburst won an approving grunt from Ash.

"All I wanna do is find that kid, Blake and you're not making it any goddamn easier!"

"The phone is with her…" Ethan weakly cut in. He finally had the attention of the two men. "I have already told you the truth and I am begging you," he emphatically tugged at the handcuff clamped around his wrist, "to let me go."

Blake crossed over to Ethan's side and leaned closer to him. "You're still gonna stick to that shitty story, Mars? That a woman _conveniently_ took away an important piece of evidence while you got arrested?"

"It's not a shitty story," Ethan erupted, "I am not lying!" It was a reaction Kathy knew would earn him an inevitable brain hemorrhage. A quick uppercut that Blake swung at him was the first step to getting there. What neither she nor Ash expected, was for Norman to return the favor, as if on Ethan's behalf.

"What the fu-" Ash trailed off. Everybody in the room was stunned. And stunned they remained; when the agent and the lieutenant traded punches, and saw it unravel into an ugly, unrestrained brawl, till Blake pulled put his gun, sadistically pleased at the unfair advantage.

Kathy cupped her mouth and exhaled slowly, when Norman made a wiser decision to throw a chair and exit the room. It was a hasty retreat…but Ash could not help wonder who would have had their way in the fight, had Blake not had the gun… It was just an idle thought…for somehow the answer seemed reasonably apparent.

* * *

Charlene Taylor had been working as a secretary for the department's captains for fifteen years now. But she had never seen a more chaotic unfolding of an evening before. _Looks like I'm going to have to make a call._ She picked up the phone to dial, but quickly put it down when she saw Norman rushing towards Captain Perry's office.

There seemed to be an argument happening inside. Charlene could only wish she knew what was happening. But for now, she would have to make do with what she knew. Her eyes were fixed on the door as her fingers carefully dialed a number on the phone. The voice answered within the first ring. "Tell me," it said. Charlene began to recount the day's events, only to be cut short.

"All I'm interested in is Ethan Mars." "He's still under questioning, "Charlene whispered, "…and apparently under the influence of cocaine."

"Cocaine?"

"That's the word around the department."

She instinctively pulled the phone away, pressing it against her knee when she saw the door open and Norman storm out of the office and into the men's restroom.

"What was that sound?" the voice asked, when she put the phone back to her ear.

"The FBI profiler seems to be having his differences with the Captain…already…" Charlene explained, looking around to see if anyone was listening.

"I suppose that's it for now. Thank you, Mrs. Taylor." Charlene visibly relaxed, relieved that everyone around still seemed characteristically indifferent.

"You're welcome, Ms. Paige."

* * *

_Grace welcomed the sunlight and its caressing warmth. The breeze was gentle and cool. She had longed for the sun, yearned for it after the rain…after the terrible, terrible rain. It would not rain again. And she was happy. A pair of hands slickly found their way to her sides, and then curved around her slim waist. She could feel him, tall and strong, pressing against her as he planted rough kisses down her neck. It was a game they played, where he would sneak up on her, his kisses a subtle urging to be, for a few moments, just his wife. Not a mother, daughter or a sister. Just his wife._

_Except that it did not feel good anymore….it had stopped feeling good long ago. "Don't!" she protested and moved out of his reach. The tears came faster now, along with a strong loathing for the man she had once married. "What's wrong, love?" Ethan asked and stepped closer. "I hate you!" she screamed. "I hate you so much! I wish you were dead!"_

_He looked hurt and confused. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Why are you pretending its okay, Ethan? They're gone! The boys are gone!"_

"_They haven't gone anywhere!" Ethan almost sounded amused. "They're playing in the lawn." _

"_It can't be…."_

"_You seem to have had a bad dream, Grace."_

_God, how she wished it were true. She wanted it to be a bad dream, wanted to open her eyes and be here forever, in a happy home with her entire family._

* * *

Norman wiped his faced dry, and gave a final, reluctant look in the mirror before leaving the restroom. He never liked the reflection that stared back anymore. A few months was all it took to have him looking like a degenerate of his former self. _No it has to be longer than that._ But he had lost track of time. He only had himself to blame - his inability to take a break, allow the workload to pile up around him, like a fortress…revealing yet protecting him from a pitiless world out there. _At least work doesn't hurt you. You always get something in return._

_Not now, tomorrow, _he promised himself. _I'll think about all this tomorrow._ Except, he never did.

Norman was surprised to see Grace asleep, despite slouching uncomfortably against the wall. He carefully shut the door before coming in. _At least someone's made herself comfortable in here._ He stood near the door, quietly contemplating the situation. _No, this won't do…you have to wake her up!_

"_I want to see my boys!" Grace sobbed and tried to run past Ethan. But somehow she was rooted to the spot, as if forced to confront a reality she did not want to accept. The expression on Ethan's face changed. It was grimmer now. The house suddenly became darker and the rain poured in from the top. There was no ceiling, nothing to save her from the rain. She wanted to escape the rain, to find her boys and get away from there. She tried running again, but her foot got caught in something. Ethan's arms were outstretched but she still braced herself for the impact….for the pain. Because Ethan had let her fall once. He had not been there to catch her. Because she knew the pain would hurt. It always did….everything did…_

Norman's instinct was faster than his conscious thought and he immediately lunged ahead to catch Grace before she fell forward and off the desk. He covered the distance between her and the ground, his body easily absorbing the impact of hers as she collapsed limply into his arms.

Grace trembled from the shock, her hands wildly clutching for something to hold onto, managing to unevenly get a hold of his coat. "Ethan!" she gasped against his chest. Norman stood still when he heard her say that and waited for her to tilt her head upwards. To see her dazed and relieved look turn to one of fear and uncertainty again, when she found his scarred, ethereal face looking down at her, his piercing blue eyes reflecting in her dark brown ones.

She looked the way she had when he first saw her…a mother who feared for her son…a woman who cared…


	7. Regret

Niki-nikstaah's back in the house, baybeh! Sounding crazy? That's coz I'm! Coz it's vacation time and I'm hap-pap-paaaayyyy! xD Apologies to all those who had been waiting for the next chapter. I sincerely hope this one has been worth it. Hope you all got to read my profile, I'd written about the possible delay in posting thanks to my exams. :) I still managed to pen down massive chunks (including an epilogue for the story…already…) during the crazy two weeks. And they have been truly crazy, with me wondering if I would live to see my next birthday, which is coming soon. Also survived an "I'm too stupid to live"/"I truly suck at writing," phase. My sanity pretty much hit ground zero after 3 months of academic violation and sleep deprivation. But anyway… :)

A usual thank you to netherlady, OdyFreesin, Betty Royale and mythstoorfoot. And Chyrstis for being an unexpected source of support. And also a thank you to dad, who's been reading my fics so avidly and being so encouraging. :)

I would also like to thank my friend Neel for her encouragement. Believe it folks; she sat through this fic without knowing ANYTHING about Heavy Rain, and still found it in her heart to appreciate it. It was also fun to enact Jayden's bit in the blackmailing scene for her. xD

And now…the unregistered readers… I always regret not being able to thank you guys for your amazing comments then and there, instead having to post it all up with a new chapter. Maybe next time, I'll be thanking you all on my profile! :) Hmm, so let's start thanking everyone, turn by turn! :)

Greased Lightning – Haha! Norman and Grace? The forthcoming chapters may have you feeling either very cheated or leave you asking for more (assuming I ever do justice do them). Hmm….which one could it POSSIBLY be? xD I'm glad you liked the chapter! Your review had me grinning my teeth out!

Urban Cowboy – Hiya, lad! xD Well ya gotta get faster n better if ya gotta survive in the wilderness! Tryin' ta keep the gun powder dry and go the whole hog! (Sorry, still weak with the lingo! :D) No seriously, I'm really happy that you liked it. And happier still if you think I'm getting better! Thanks a ton! xD Hilarious review from your end too!

(And both of you totally looked forward to seeing the unfortunate Ethan Mars being beaten to pulp! I bet you guys don't even intervene as Norman during the Under Arrest Playthrough, do you?)

Jim Slade – For commenting on EXACTLY the bits I wanted someone to comment on! It might surprise you, I think, to know that the interrogation scene wasn't even supposed to be a part of chapter 6. Like I said in Chapter 1, I'll be pretty much skipping over the scenes already there in the game. But that would mean giving up Blake's line which had been buzzing in my head for so long! And well, Grace's bit. :) I don't have favorites for what I write but had liked this one. Thanks so much for liking it too! :)

Honky Tonk Man – Thank you for being so nice, to ACTUALLY come back again and comment on the story after you were done with all the chapters. I was so pleasantly surprised! I have been to Scotland, it's a wonderful place and the people are really nice and hospitable! And what was that? *gasp* Sheldonisque? Oh my… Sidney Sheldon….is one of the many Gods of pace in the literary world, and what not. To call my writing "Sheldonisque" is… wow! I'm really touched! Thank you! This means a lot to me! :) Greetings from the Indian coast. :) :) :)

Happy reading, folks! Please leave a review! :) Needless to say, it's a looooooooooong chapter ahead. Consider it a compensation for my absence if you must. :)

* * *

Jeremiah Sanchez, better known as Jerry, was very particular about the way he kept things. A perfectionist. His compact bar at the corner of 14 Anderson Street ran like clockwork, something he took great pride in. Needless to say, occasional annoyances like drunken brawls or inexperienced drinkers hurling their evening beverages and snacks onto his spotless tiled floor had him feeling more than just foul in temper.

Especially when the person involved was Scott Shelby, who seemed to have recently forgotten how much he should be drinking and when to give up on being clearly outnumbered in a fight. Agreed, the four boys converging on Scott should have known better than to hound a girl trying to have a quiet drink.

They should have also known better than to use 'fat' and 'shithead' in the same breath for him, when he had tried to intervene. Or roughly shove him away when he had persisted.

"I've run out of body bags in the cellar, fellas! Just saying!" Jeremiah called out nervously. The boys definitely had an unfair advantage. 'Strength in numbers' was not a wasted adage for them.

Two of them had already pounced on him, toppling over a few tables which creaked in protest, more because of Scott's weight than theirs. The sudden contact of solid ground with the back of his head was rather disorienting, but not enough for him to _not_ recognize the clicking sound of a knife as it was jerked out of its handle.

Three successive clicks implied three more knives being pulled out, almost as if on cue. It was threatening to get uglier. Jeremiah edged closer to the phone in the corner. He wanted to close his bar like he did every night. With a lock and key.

Not cordoned off by the cops with a 'Do Not Cross' sign taped across the place. _Assholes ruining my evening…_, Scott inwardly cursed.

He could hear them jeering, but staggered resolutely to his feet, gritting his teeth against the dizziness. They really should have known better. His knuckles cracked dramatically when he entwined his fingers and stretched them together.

_He's mad, _Jerry decided. _He's stark, staring mad._ A few cautious steps more and the phone would be within his reach.

"Give your wallet, fuckface," one of the ruffians barked, presumably the leader. Scott slowly raised his hands in the air, a disarmingly reassuring gesture, and a stark contrast to his mocking smile. Jerry stopped short, just as his fingers closed around the receiver. _He's got something up his sleeve._

Nor exactly up his sleeve, but Scott definitely had a 0.38 strapped in his holster, concealed under his trench coat. Though a worthy substitute for a wallet, Scott did not intend to hand it over when he pulled it out with a sharp tug. Pointing it at them, however, considerably lessened their resolve to mug him.

They knew a practiced hand behind a gun when they saw one. Scott cocked the gun. "Gimme yours, fuckface." Jerry dropped the receiver. The goons dropped their knives. Scott pointed his gun to a table nearby. "Put the brass there."

They exchanged nervous glances, suddenly unsure about the turn of events. "Move!" Jerry watched in shock and awe as the four wallets piled up on the table. "My God," he mouthed to himself and buried his face in his hands. "Beat it!" he heard Scott say. It was only when there was a scampering of feet and the bell tinkled with the opening and closing of the door, that Jerry dared to look up again.

Scott was searching the wallets and pocketed two driving licenses that he found. The rest he gave to Jerry. "The gun is mightier than the sword," he guffawed to the visibly shaken bartender. He looked around the place. "Where's the girl, Jers?"

"She bolted." "Wise decision." Jerry looked down at the wallets. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

"You're supposed to keep the change." The man was too dazed to return Scott's nonchalant grin.

"I'll be off, pal. Don't expect me to tip you for the service and ambience." "Fine," Jerry mumbled. The relief was beginning to set in now and a broken table with other upturned furniture was a small price to pay for being alive.

"And to top it all, there's no signal in the fucking place!"

"Good night, Scott." Jerry had had enough for one night. He was dying to close the place down.

"Yeah….sweet dreams, Cinderfella." He stumbled out of the place, promising himself to go to the Met police in the morning and hand over the licenses of the boys. It would have been delightful to have a certain Carter Blake personally whip their asses.

If only he wasn't so occupied with the Origami Killer's case. _That's some sinister shit. _His cell phone beeped. _What now? _It was an sms notification. He had received five missed calls from a particular number. He glanced at his watch.

_Who could it be?_

* * *

Grace was still a little muddled. Norman could tell as he helped her sit backwards on the table. Her hands still held on to his coat, something he would tactfully object to later if her grip remained so.

"You okay?" he asked, feeling more obligated than concerned to do so. His gaze dropped from her bewildered eyes to her lips which trembled weakly, in response. Norman had never tried his hand at lip-reading but knew that the inaudible contortions of her mouth were neither words of reassurance or gratitude.

The agent's face clearly registered to her mind and Grace almost instantly let go of him and pulled herself away, trying yet again to keep as much distance as she could between them. A brief look of embarrassment crossed her face and Norman took it as a good sign.

_As least she's up and about now._ He backed slowly away from her, as if she had more than just her grim look pointed at him. An awkward silence filled the room now, like water seeping into an empty crevice.

Norman fumbled for words, wishing more than ever to have a way with them. Of course, eloquence and women were never a favorable combination for him. He had a hard time coping with the two individually anyway.

"How's Ethan?" she finally asked, the silence becoming more of a waste of time, than unbearable. The question seemed to come from nowhere and Norman waited for it to expand and linger in the air, in silent resonance, before answering.

"He's been better, Ms. Garner, I-" Norman carefully considered his next words. He did not want to get into details of the interrogation. Grace eased herself off the table. "Did he tell you why he did what he did?" Norman leaned against the wall, only to stand up straight again. He was unsure of what he should be saying to her.

"What did he say?" she asked again, in barely concealed impatience.

"He's not making much sense." There was no nice way of saying this. "He did speak about getting a phone call, and going to a Café De La Crème."

"Is that where we begin investigating?"

Grace saw a slight downward tilt of his head before he walked back to the door. She took that as a 'yes'.

He shrugged. "It's a lead I'd like to follow. Just a hunch, and nothing much to go on, but something's better than nothing."

Norman held the door open for her and she quickly walked out. Grace moved faster still towards the main exit, when on fishing her vibrating phone out of her pocket, she saw that the number flashing across the screen was Scott Shelby's.

Norman did not understand why Grace looked so startled the second time in the night when he caught up with her. Why she gestured to him to give her a minute…as to why answering a phone call should suddenly take precedence over finding her son.

_Over whom she's willing to destroy what I've spent years trying to build, _he thought bitterly. His hand instinctively reached, not for the Triptocaine this time, but for his FBI credentials. _I've earned my place here_…_she can't take it away from me_.

He reached the car and saw Grace mercifully follow close behind. She never said a word to him; she did not need to. They both knew the futility of the façade. To pretend that everything was okay between them…that it wasn't a forced truce.

Norman felt an angry, resentment piling up within him, pounding for release. _This won't end well…_he heatedly cursed; _she'll probably end up destroying me; _not for a moment realizing how prophetic that was.

* * *

_Just call me. We can still work this out. Please, just_

Kathy did not bother reading the full message. He always found a way to make his presence felt, an unwanted reminder that some mistakes had to be lived with. At least he knew better than to turn up at her apartment now. She never remembered feeling more grateful about being a cop, with a licensed gun.

Firmly clenching her jaw, Kathy began to type a reply. _Just sign the fucking papers. _She glanced over to see Blake sitting at his desk, bent over and gazing with a look of yearning at the photograph in his wallet.

He always did that during breaks. _A break from breaking bones,_ she smirked. But that was also the worst time to approach him, and she learnt it the hard way as a young officer. It was something as simple as leaving a file on his table. He had not taken very kindly to the intrusion and within moments it wasn't just Kathy but the entire department that realized that his bark was as bad as his bite.

She had swallowed her pride, those angry, unsaid words and those unshed tears till she stumbled into the restroom and shut herself in the cubicle. The insistent knocking and coaxing outside the door was done by Lieutenant Scott Shelby.

"We both know you're not crapping in there, kid! Might as well open up!" She blew her nose into a piece of toilet paper.

"You're-" Kathy coughed a little. "You're not supposed to be here. This is the lady's room!"

"It's actually the men's room but you don't hear me complaining!"

_Shit! _Kathy swung open the door. "I'm so sorry" she began and immediately halted in her steps when she saw Charlene washing her hands in the basin. The older woman smiled apologetically at her reflection in the mirror, knowing that she was intruding upon a private moment.

They watched her leave before Scott smiled in apology too.

"This _is _the lady's room. Not that I'm complaining, again," he grinned, "but at least you're out."

"I'm fine now," Kathy said huskily and made an unsuccessful attempt to blow her nose in a dignified manner.

"Glad to hear it." He offered her his handkerchief which she politely declined. "Just want you to know that you should never, I repeat, _never_ be anywhere near Lieutenant Carter Blake when he's got that wallet open. It's like disturbing a fanatic during prayer; with worse consequences."

Kathy nodded in understanding. "Who is she? The woman in the wallet?" The question was impulsive, but goaded by a compelling curiosity. Despite all his general "assholeness", there wasn't much Kathy knew about Blake...

Scott smiled a patient smile, like a priest reasoning with a truant schoolboy. "If he doesn't tell, I don't see why I should. Maybe you'd like to go ask him." That day and the thought of ever asking the Lieutenant about the woman still made Kathy shudder.

The sharp ringing of the phone almost had Kathy jumping off the ground, but back to the present. "Conley," she answered, mechanically. The pen and paper were within reach and she promptly began scribbling a note. "Okay." The phone was put down.

She pondered over the note before looking back at Blake. He wasn't looking at the picture anymore, but sitting still. Eerily still. However, she would have to take that chance. She approached him with growing trepidation, nevertheless trying to make herself look bigger than she felt.

"Lieutenant."

He looked at her. He did not blink. Kathy took that as a sign to continue.

"We might have a lead."

* * *

Scott Shelby walked the entire way to Café De La Crème. He felt like it. Not that the place was too far from where he had been drinking. The woman on the phone had sounded desperate when she asked him to meet her there. That was a good thing. He liked desperate clients. They are the lot who are willing to pay anything. "This better be worth my while," he still muttered.

* * *

Grace knew that if she had a knife in her hand it would get blunt from cutting the tension between them. And that the strain would still not dissipate. _But that can't be helped…_

It was a long drive to the café and she wondered how and why Ethan went so far. _It may have been two years since I really spoke to him but I can't have misjudged a man so badly. _No, there was more to this. Even if it meant contradicting her earlier self, she had to believe that Ethan was innocent. Not that she was sure about what she believed in earlier. Was it the assumption that he was the killer? _No! _She had been scared back then….she was still so scared…

Norman brought a hand to the rear view mirror to adjust it. Their eyes briefly met in the mirror when he twisted it at a certain angle. Both pair of eyes promptly looked away. But somehow, Grace felt as though he was still looking at her. She self-consciously crossed her arms and tilted closer to her side of the window.

"I am not looking at you," he said abruptly. Grace shifted slightly and glanced back at him. He really wasn't looking at her. But even when he looked straight ahead, it seemed as if his eyes were still on her – scrutinizing her, judging her…profiling her…

He made her nervous and Norman could sense it._ Strange_, he thought_,_ the odds were stacked in her favor for now. The traffic light turned red and he leaned back slightly into his seat. The small gap of rest was more than welcome and he arched his sore back a little, without making it too obvious to the woman sitting next to him.

He caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass of his window. Her hands were clasped to her chest as if she was praying. The kid definitely needed them. Norman could not help but wonder why Grace was putting herself through this. She looked so tired, and feeble…and even pale unless the streetlights were making her look that way. The whiteness of her skin contrasted with her auburn hair and brown eyes, making her look like an unreal vision.

Like the one who had helped him to his feet, and out of that blood-stained shirt… _God, no! _he remembered with a grimacing jolt, though it went unnoticed by the silent occupant in the car. She had her eye on the electronic timer under the traffic signal.

56… 55…54…

Grace longed for time to go back the same way. She would want nothing more than to go back to the afternoon when Shaun had called her up. Just before he and Ethan left for the park, when she was at work.

"_I want to come back," _he whispered to her on the phone. She guessed that Ethan was not around_. "You mustn't say that, dear. Even daddy wants to be with you." _It was difficult to urge Shaun to be good to Ethan, especially when she did not feel the same way.

"_I don't want to be here, mommy! Can't you come?" "Oh Shaun…" "Dad and I are going to the park. Can't you come there?"_

"_Oh honey, I'll try…" _They both knew that she would not make it.

32…31…30…

She thought back to the conversation. It could have been different had she wanted it to be so. _"Dad and I are going to the park. Can't you come there?" _Instead of looking impatiently at the clock ticking on the wall, Grace shut the appointment book she had been shuffling through. _"Of course I can, honey. I'll see you there." "Bye mom, I love you." "I love you too, my baby."_

She would have been by his side the whole evening, even if it meant being right next to Ethan.

17…16…15…

She would not have got a call from him later than evening. _"Is…is Shaun with you?" a desperate voice trembled from the other end. "No, why should he be?" Silence_. _"Ethan, what's wrong?" No answer_. _"What are you not telling me?" Deathly silence…and then_… _"I think I've lost him."_

8…7…6…

"_How could you have lost him!" "I was right by the carousel, I-" "How could you, Ethan!"_

3…2…1…

The lights turned green. _Grace sank to the ground. The wall she leaned on seemed unable to hold her up. She gently put the phone away from her. But Ethan's voice could still be heard. Her hands flew to her ears, but she could still hear him._

"_I'm sorry, Grace. I'm so sorry. I know I've fucked up but I will do whatever it takes to bring him back," he sobbed. _It was now Ethan's turn to endure the silence. _"Grace? Grace, are you there?"_

"Are you listening?" Norman demanded. Grace shook slightly in her seat, startled. "We've reached," he said before swinging his door open. Grace swiftly opened her own and bundled out of the car. The chilly breeze and cold drizzle assaulted her senses, making her shiver involuntarily.

The weather did not seem to bother Norman that much, though she did see a look of mild irritation temper with his already grave features. The cozy warmth of the café was more than welcome to both of them.

It seemed near to closing time.

Grace wondered which of the unfamiliar faces was Scott Shelby's. "I'll wait here for you," she called out to Norman as he walked towards the manager. He barely acknowledged it with a nod but found it strange, since she had been more than eager to investigate with him.

The cell phone vibrated again and Grace was relieved to see that it was Scott. "What are you wearing?" he asked. Grace looked down and then all around. "What kind of a question is that?"

"All I wanna know is if you're the tall lady with red hair, in a brown shirt and black trousers." The voice seemed to come from behind her, instead of coming through the phone. The only man standing behind her was a large, pot-bellied man with a trench coat thrown over his white shirt and fawn pants.

He also looked a little drunk.

She raised her eyebrows when he walked up to her and held out his hand. "My name is Scott Shelby." Grace sighed. Nothing was right with the people she was meeting that day. "I'm Grace Garner," she said and took his hand in a firm handshake.


	8. Clueless

Thank you all so much for reviewing! I decided to post this chapter up, before college opens up on Monday. The next one might not come so soon, but it will come, rest assured. :D Please do leave a review; I always go through what everyone's written. And hey, it doesn't cost a thing! :D

Thanks so much to, hold your breath, it's a long list – netherlady, Greased Lightning, Chyrstis, Betty Royale, Urban Cowboy, Honky Tonk Man, nikita, mythstoorfoot and Jim Slade. Your reviews on "Regret" definitely leave me with no regret on having edited some massive chunks out. :)

Detailed acknowledgements are on my profile. :) I hope you like this chapter…there were places where I just couldn't find the right words to express an emotion or to get a point across. But otherwise, hope you enjoy it! :D

* * *

The flickering streetlight was jarring to her eyes. Madison changed sides, on her bed, and turned away from the window. The cell phone felt as heated as warm metal in her hands. She saw the video on the cell play again. A child was stuck inside a grate. There was rainwater pouring in. "Dad…" he cried faintly, his voice barely audible over the sound of rain.

Re-inserting the sim card into the phone also revealed a word puzzle. Random alphabets over dashes. _What would the cops think if I turned it in? _She frowned. _What'll you say when they ask you how you found it? _That would be putting her in a bigger mess. No, she was in this alone. She let herself get dragged into this.

"It's the choices we make," her oldest brother Damien had said to her before he left for college. He had been so right. Well, she would just have to keep digging. And out of all her spades, Sam and Charlene were the sturdiest. But if she thought in terms of playing cards, they were her aces.

* * *

Norman and Rachel were leaning together into the speaker phone of her cell. A girl answered the call on the other end. "Ya?" "Hey Amanda, we have a guy from the FBI here. He'd like to ask you a few questions." "The FBI? What the hell's happening?"

Norman stepped in. "Nothing to worry about, Amanda. Apparently someone came to you late this evening, asking you to keep aside some coffee for Ethan Mars?" "I wouldn't say keep aside, Mr.-"

"-Jayden."

"-Jayden. He had the cup with him. Told me to give it to him if he ever came asking. My shift ended so I had Rachel take over."

"Do you remember what 'he' looked like?" "I dunno…just a regular guy or I would've remembered something." Norman knitted his fingers together, thoughtfully. "Do you remember the time when you spoke to him?"

There was an uncertain pause at the other end. "Yes, I think so." Norman exhaled slowly in genuine relief. He was getting somewhere.

* * *

And to think Scott had only read about the Origami Killer's case in the papers. This was unbelievable. He stared unblinking, yet attentively across the table at Grace. Who did not look too pleased. "You don't believe a word of what I've said." "I do," he rasped, awkwardly shaking his head.

Scott had been in the force long enough to separate with reasonable accuracy the liars from the "truthers". "I still don't understand how anyone could've taken your son if Ethan was right by the carousel."

Grace nodded vigorously and looked skywards. "I don't know, Mr. Shelby-""-Scott's fine," "-all I got was a phone call from him. Not that it's a story I have much faith in either…"

* * *

"How soon can you come, Amanda?" Norman briskly jogged back to the room with all the security cameras. "It would take me an hour, Mr. Jayden…I'm sorry, I don't live close by." He entered the room, his eyes darting across every screen. It seemed to be a haphazard collage of people coming and going.

"What if we texted you screenshots of all the people in the given time frame?" "Yes, that would work, Mr. Jayden." "We'll be getting back to you soon." Norman put the phone aside for a moment and tapped at the screen closest to him. "Rewind to around 9 pm here."

* * *

"I'd like to speak to Ethan." He was the missing piece in the entire puzzle. Scott noticed how Grace's mouth twitched at the idea. "He's in police custody, Mr. Shelby. I've yet to speak with him, myself." His ears pricked up. "Why is he in police custody?" The way he precariously leaned forward against the table combined with the skeptical frown gave Grace a distinct feeling of being interrogated.

She tried to ignore it. Grace took a deep breath. _Pull yourself together…Together!_

"That's not important. Finding my son is." She pulled a cheque book out of her purse and signed on a blank cheque. "Money should be the least of your concern." She pulled it back when Scott reached for it. "I need to be informed about everything in your investigation."

He nearly smiled. That was hardly a condition. "Done," he agreed with finality. Grace flicked at the cheque and it went sliding towards him in a fluid motion. His large palm came down on the precious slip of paper before it skidded off the table. His eyes studied the neat signature before looking back at her.

"This is where I take your leave?" "Yes." Grace held out her hand. "Good night and good luck, Mr. Shelby."

* * *

Norman worked quickly, scanning through every available piece of footage while collaborating with Amanda on the phone. _Is this the guy?_ he would message, along with a screenshot of a potential suspect. _No, _she would reply.

Norman could barely wait to get back to clues which could be analyzed through the ARI.

* * *

Grace glanced at her watch. _When will he be out? _She knew better than to try and find him inside the café. _He's busy with good reason. Every clue takes us a step closer. _She thought of the police. Of Lieutenant Blake. Of the eight previous victims of the killer. Their faces looking back at her from the papers she hurriedly discarded after reading.

And then she thought of Norman Jayden. Of his determination. _He's the only one from the department who's single-handedly following up on leads. _She felt that unbearable surge of guilt again. The sky was as she had last seen it, when she looked up.

Dark and relentless.

_Even a criminal is acquitted under exceptional circumstances, _she mutely implored the heavens,

_I'm just a mother._

_

* * *

_

"Go easy on the old guy_", _Ash chuckled on the phone. Oh, he was enjoying her late night ordeal. Kathy bit the inside of her mouth. Hard. She could not restrain herself anymore.

"I am overworked, I have yelled and been yelled at, interrogated countless suspects for this frickin' case! I haven't slept a wink or gone out in a long time. I look like a hag and in all probability, will die alone. And I'm this close, this goddamn close to starting the Shaun Mars Funeral Fund already! So if this guy gives me a dead end lead after calling me here at this hour, my arrest on manslaughter charges would just be the cherry on the cake! Don't tell me to go easy on anyone! Anyone!"

He was laughing at the other end. "You sound like mom,_ "_he snickered_._

"I won't dignify that with a comment." She hung up on him.

After finding the house of a certain Robert Jennings, who had previously spoken to her on the phone, she stretched momentarily outside the gate. _This better be good, _she chanted to herself and hammered her finger into his doorbell.

The door opened and an old man in a robe beckoned her inside. "Thank you for coming at such short notice," he said in a hoarse whisper. She followed him inside. "I read about the disappearance of young Shaun Mars," he called out over his shoulder, "and I think I saw the boy being taken away by a man in the evening."

* * *

_That's him! That's the man! _Norman's eyes leaped back to the screen. _Are you absolutely certain? _he massaged back and sent the picture again as confirmation. _I'm positive. _Norman signaled to the operator to zoom in. All they could capture was his side profile but one could make out the jet black hair, a French beard and blue eyes.

_Makes no difference, he's prolly under disguise. _Not that it worried him. His hand possessively caressed the ARI tucked inside his coat. Identifying him would be a breeze later.

* * *

They sat facing each other in his tiny living room. "What was the man wearing?" Kathy asked Jennings again. It was always better to double check. The most confident witnesses would often contradict themselves. "Jeans and a blue jacket with a hood. But Detective-" "And you say you couldn't see his face?"

"He had that hood covering his face. I saw him sideways, not front on!" "How can you be so sure that the man was carrying Shaun Mars?" "I've already told you everything! I was walking on the sidewalk, about to enter the park when I see this hooded man carry a kid wearing a beige coat and green pants into a Honda Accord!"

The old man was getting impatient. "You had a look at the kid's face?" "Yes I did, my dear! His head was resting on the man's shoulder and facing my direction. I thought he was asleep back then, but after reading about it in the papers, I'm pretty sure the kid was out cold!"

He began breathing heavily. Kathy waited for him to calm down. "I'm sorry…" he sighed. "My daughter has a little boy the exact same age…" "I understand," Kathy said and meant it. "I was so close to that murderous bastard…" "Close enough to recall anything significant about him?"

"Like I told you, around six feet and reasonably well-built. But that's all I remember. Of course there is more. I've written it on a piece of paper. Wait here, I'll get it."

Kathy sank deeper into the sofa. _I think I could sleep here and not give a damn…_

* * *

Grace sprang up from the chair the instant she saw Norman walking out of the main entrance. "Did you find anything?" she did not care to suppress the excitement in her voice. "Yes I did." "Well, what?" he walked past her without stopping, obviously expecting her to keep up.

"So where are we going now?" "It's rather late. I wanna snatch a few hours of sleep before daybreak." That was when Grace realized how exhausted she was too. Like a damp cloth squeezed dry. "Where am I supposed to drop you?" he asked as he unlocked the door.

"The Met police station. My car's parked over there." "Fine." The uncomfortable silence was heavy above their heads…again. But they could find nothing more to say to each other.

* * *

Kathy was very close to nodding off by the time Jennings walked in. He handed over a piece of paper. _1208, dark blue._ "What's this?" she asked. "A part of the license plate number and the color of the car. I tried recalling everything I could after reading about the kidnapping."

She read the chit again. Jennings hovered uncertainly on the side. "I have a habit of mentally summing up numbers on a license plate. I was doing the same thing, standing behind his car before he turned up." Kathy looked up. "That's how you remembered the number?" "Unfortunately, that's all I remember, dear." A few words of disappointment and reassurance were exchanged before she left.

Her phone was a nuisance even in vibrating mode. She pulled it out while heading towards the car. It was Ash. " Why on earth don't you just stick to messaging?" she groaned in resigned weariness.

"There's been a murder."

Kathy rolled her eyes. "There always is, Ash! Can I go back to investigating the Origami Killer's case now?" "It's probably related, Kath. One of the victim's mother is dead." She knew she did not want to hear anymore.

"Which one?" she still heard herself say. Ash took a deep breath at the other end.

"Susan Bowles."

* * *

It was terribly cold, even though the rain had mercifully thinned to a drizzle. The familiar chill wrapped itself around Grace when she stepped out of the car. She waited for Norman to look at her after cursing the weather. "In the morning, then?""In the morning," Norman affirmed.

She gave him a final nod before hurrying past his car to the other side of the parking lot. He saw her turn the corner and disappear from sight. _I should check up on Mars and then get going too. _He halted in his steps. His eyes went back to the corner. Then returned to the austere yet warm interior of the station.

But soon, back to the corner. "Oh, damn it all," he muttered and went after her. Ethan Mars was still chained to a table. It was Grace Garner who was running around in deserted car parks. Norman swore to be discreet, to just take a peek before heading back. His heart gave a fierce leap when he heard a loud pounding sound and a wail.

He broke into a run, as fast as his feet could take him over the slippery ground. _She was alone only for a moment! _He scanned the sparsely occupied parking lot. Till he found her at the far end, kicking at the tyre of her car.

He caught up with her, relieved and breathless at the same time. "Puncture?" "Worse," she croaked. Her red eyes were looking inside the car. Norman followed her gaze. The car keys were dangling lazily from the ignition.

_Holy Christ…_ If there was one thing they seemed to have in common, it was a progressively bad day. Norman turned and said something to her. "Sorry?" she frowned. The rumbling sound of thunder drowned his voice when he repeated himself.

_I give up. _He gave her an apologetic look before hesitantly putting an arm around her neck. He stepped closer and she stiffened. "Just a sec…" he murmured. She offered no further resistance. His fingers moved through her hair.

The thunder and the slight tug at her hair coincided at the same time; making her wonder if she shivered at the sound or at the sensation. Norman carefully extracted a v-shaped hair pin and showed it to her before inserting it into the key hole. Grace watched him uneasily as he thrust it downwards and turned it one side.

There was a click. Norman pulled the handle and the door swung open. He gently held the pin out for her, his hand far above hers, as if afraid to make contact. She took it from him. "Thank you," she whispered and eased it back into her hair.

She slowly got in and shut the door. The car revved back to life. The mandatory headlights and wipers were put to use before the vehicle hit the main road. _Still got the touch, _he noted with a sense of satisfaction, only to color slightly at the bad pun. He pushed it out of his mind.

_Back to work, back to Mars. _

* * *

The world did look odd when tilted at a particular angle. Sideways, in Ethan Mars's case. He was lying on the floor. So when the cop on duty walked around the interrogation room, it seemed as if he was walking on a wall. Every muscle, bone, fiber of his body ached. His arm was asleep now from hanging above his head, for his wrist was still enclosed in the cold steel handcuffs.

He lacked the strength to pull himself up. All effort was in vain because if he did manage to sit up, that hairy bastard would come and start all over again. It felt wiser to just stay put. He had reasoned with them, begged them to let him go, with steadily diminishing ardor.

No one seemed inclined to either believe or help him. He felt so helpless. The door opened and an extra pair of legs in gray trousers appeared. The accent was different but vaguely familiar. He blacked out for a few moments but stirred slightly when a pair of hands firmly gripped his shoulders and hoisted him up and into his chair.

His first impulse was of fear that his tormentor had returned. "Are you alright?" Ethan first heard, and then saw sympathy on the profiler's face. This man had come to his rescue before. If only he could remember his name…

"I need to get out of here. I gotta save my son," he said, fervently. The pale man seemed to understand. "I'll see what I can do."


	9. Alone

**This author's note is really important! So please read carefully. **First of all, I would like to apologize for my long absence. Lots of factors like my 18th birthday, high level stress, projects, drama rehearsals, sickness and God knows what else, kept me very, very busy! I have, in fact, kept an important assignment on the back burner only so that I could finish this chapter and post it asap by tonight. Guess I did manage to hold up my end of the deal. :) I felt guilty for making you all wait so long. I was too unwell to go to college today, so wrote a major chunk of the second half (of this chapter) today itself, swearing not to sleep before it was complete. Please forgive any typo I may have unintentionally failed to correct!

After Chapter 5, this is the hardest chapter I've had to write, not just because of the sequences, but of the tremendous pressure I was under, while doing it. Multiple characters are very tricky. I feel like a kindergarten teacher chasing a berserk group of brats in the playground.

**Now here's a very important thing I want all readers to take note of. **Because of my exams, I cannot even _think _of writing the next chapter until after March 18th. Please bear with me. In all your reviews, I would like to know if, the next time around you would prefer quick updates with shorter chapters or slow ones with longer chapters. **I need everyone to answer this in their next review.**

A thank you to Greased Lightning, urban cowboy, Jim Slade, Honky Tonk Man. And also to Betty Royale, mythstoorfoot and Chyrstis (for not just the reviews, but the birthday greetings :D). I would love to have more reviews from more reviewers. Please! You have no idea how encouraging it is!

Random PS : Does Ethan – Grace's complicated relationship remind anyone of the Shinedown song, "Call me"?

* * *

"I'd like to see the most recent Honda Accord that's been towed here in the evening." "Right… I'll just go grab my register." Kathy quickly read the chit again while the garage owner's back was turned. _Honda Accord – dark blue, 1208. _Unless she had been gravely mistaken, Ethan Mars drove an Accord too. There was just a little cross-checking that had to be done.

"Follow me," the man said and Kathy did. But her eyes followed the rows of cars towed from the area between Girard Avenue and Wendell Street. Some cars were gathering dust, still to be claimed by their owners. Kathy always found such vehicles suspicious. _Which idiot wouldn't wanna get his car back?_

* * *

Norman felt his heart pound fiercely… again. There never seemed a moment's rest in this godforsaken city. If Ethan Mars could save his son, if there was anything he could do, he had to be released. Bailing him out or sending a word to the Washington Field Office would take a day, maybe more. Which left him with very little time and just another alternative.

_No way, no fucking way_

He walked around the circumference of the entire station. The place was comparatively emptier than daytime. Mars could easily slip out. Of course, it would be easier to deduce who helped him escape. _Wait, why am I still thinking about this?_

When he noticed that his restless pacing was making heads turn, he beat a hasty retreat to his "office". Once there, Norman shut the door firmly behind him and rested his head against it. He just seemed to be stumbling from one disaster into another. Nathaniel, Korda, Grace… Ethan? _I can't do anything for Mars… but I have to. _There was no way that a father could kidnap his own son after drowning eight boys.

_He never said he wasn't the killer… but he doesn't fit the psychological profiling either. _Norman's gaze dropped to his watch. _I have to find a way in the morning. Only a few more hours for that, now. _The weariness crept up on him and he disliked the feeling. Sleep seemed like such a wasteful habit sometimes, if only it wasn't so refreshing. Norman decided to succumb to the necessity and call it a day.

* * *

The Honda Accord was not the one Kathy was looking for. The license plate number had neither a 1208 embedded into it, nor was it dark blue in color. "Are you sure Holden and Dean turned in this car from Wendell Street?" "Yep." If Kathy Conley was not a sight for sore eyes with that fantastic ass, the jet black hair and sultry green eyes, the garage owner would have been far from courteous.

"And you don't have an Accord with a license number 1208, in dark blue?" There was a pause and some shuffling. Kathy guessed that he was going through the register. "Nope." It was one word that opened up a sea of possibilities for her.

That Ethan changed the license plate and color of the car, unlikely though since it was a difficult task to accomplish in a few hours. Unless he rented one. Maybe he got someone else to do the job for him. Or maybe… just maybe, he wasn't the Origami Killer.

* * *

It would be disorienting and also terrifying for a person to be aware that he's sitting in a hotel room, when all he could see around him was a dusty terrain of an unknown planet. Norman had crossed that stage long back. It was a delightful world, where the environment could be manipulated at will.

He would feel like a God then, however fleeting the emotion. All he had to do was lift a finger. Literally. And the world was his to unravel, decipher and resolve. It was truly a privilege to be entrusted with a technological prototype so sleek, so powerful… and so dangerous. So thrillingly dangerous.

But Norman had crossed that stage too. The awe and respect remained, but the hypnotic devotion was ebbing. The withdrawals made sure of that. He drummed his fingers against the table, waiting for the screenshot of the man in the café to be scanned. The image was static mid-air, but conveniently placed at eye-level. The scanning was complete. The man's name was Peter Linden. Everything from his address, hometown, down to his vital stats came tumbling out.

A lesser mortal would have been overwhelmed by the deluge. But Norman Jayden calmly skimmed through the information. Tomorrow, he would go to question him. The man could run, but he couldn't hide. The ARI made sure of that.

* * *

"Come on, come on, come on," Madison urged while prodding the key hole with a nail file and a straightened paper clip. A hair pin would have been a more convenient instrument to pick locks with, but she never had the privilege of owning them. Not after she was six and had outgrown those frilly dresses. She cautiously inserted the paper clip into the hole and pressed down the springs.

Everything had to be done before her folded legs gave way and someone saw her. More the latter, because she hadn't really thought of a plausible enough story should she ever get caught. A sweeping look of the dingy corridor reassured her. But she still had to act fast. Her right hand holding the nail file probed into the hole. She had to press the paper clip farther down with her left hand to accommodate the nail file.

With the clip still holding the springs down, she turned the nail fie towards the right. Her right. _Please…_ The door flew open with a terrible creaking sound and Madison instinctively shielded her face when she fell forward with a brief thud. Satisfied that her bearings were still intact , she crawled into the dark room and pushed the door shut. She took a chance and switched on the light. A slight glimmer flooded the room.

_Ethan Mars sure keeps a clean room. _Not clean so much as untouched. Which made her wonder why he had booked a room at all. The bed sheet was not creased, the floor was clean, nothing on the table except a shoebox, the bathroom was spick and span. That was when she did a rewind. _Wait… shoebox? _It took her two gigantic strides across the room to get to the box. Her eager nails pried it open.

And she saw what she had hoped she'd never find. Origami figures. What she also did not expect was a fear to pulsate inside her. Something as innocent as a craft children learnt became a symbol of menace. Of death. Madison hurriedly replaced the lid. _What will I do with these? _

There was a sound of heavy footfalls in the corridors, coupled with a little drunk-talking. Madison was done taking chances for the night. Her sweaty palms scooped up the box and she sneaked out of the room, while pulling the door shut.

* * *

Susan Bowles would have been the perfect candidate for a suicide. Her bathroom cabinet was full of anti-depressants; she was an alcoholic and a recluse following her son's tragic demise. Instead, she was murdered. The neighbors, when questioned, spoke about the "infernal noise" her toddler made as a result of the neglect.

_Poor thing… Ash _sighed with regret when the child welfare authorities took little Emily away. He felt the same for the woman who was standing in the living room next to the corpse. The only one who came to grieve for a dear friend. The paramedics carried the body out into the waiting ambulance. Ash gave her a moment when she saw it being taken away. She turned to blow her nose into a tissue. "I'm sorry," she whispered in a choked voice. "Don't be." "It just hasn't sunk in yet." "I understand…"

He waited till she collected herself again. "Will you be able to come to the station tomorrow morning? We have to record a few statements." "I'll be there." They were walking out of the door. Ash let her step out first. "I don't think I caught your name, Miss-"

"Winter. Lauren Winter."

"We'll see you tomorrow, then."

She gave him a strained smile before leaving, unmindful of the rain that soaked her to the bones.

* * *

Scott Shelby had no particular love for cloudy days, but they were any day better than cloudy nights. It was not raining presently, but the weather forecasters were insisting it would. He hoped to finish what he came for, before that. The park seemed to be the most essential place to begin the investigation from. He intended to ask a few questions and make a few notes before the inevitable downpour returned to piss on him. And piss him off.

"Scott! Hey, Scott!" He froze. That voice… he could tell that voice apart in his sleep. He spun around. "Conley!" Kathy was trudging up the path to keep up with him. "I can quite literally see my past catching up with me," he quipped.

"You're easy to keep up with, Scotty." She threw her arms around him. "Damn, Lieutenant! There was a time when my hands could meet at the back!" "Now never the twain shall meet!" She gave a soft laugh and pulled away. They resumed the walk. "What brings you here, Mr. Shelby?" "Can't an old man step out for a walk?" "A helluva walk from your apartment till here, then."

"Aren't you supposed to be in school, little girl?" "The Origami Killer takes you all over the place." She easily overtook him and Scott had to take longer strides to keep up with him. He may have longer legs but Kathy had the advantage of being much slimmer. She had also never grappled with asthma.

"Come on, Scott! Faster we move, faster we find the kid." "Say what?" he asked surprised. "We're on the same team, okay? And I get half of what Grace gives you." "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold it right there!" Kathy turned to face him, but kept walking backwards, away from him and towards the park.

"Cut the 'confidentiality' crap, Scotty! I gave her your card. Half your dough's mine, baybeh!" She swung around and began to walk straight again. Scott was rooted to the spot. "What the hell's happening?" She looked over her shoulder. "We've got work to do. Spit spot, my dear Scott."

* * *

Madison Paige did not intend to be a part of the press conference at the police station. It was definitely an incentive, but Ethan Mars was the purpose. The scoop. She decided to keep a low profile and try to find him. The hall was buzzing with activity. People were adjusting mikes, shifting chairs and so on. Madison could spot Britney Sanders just a little ahead. The room was filling up. She decided to sit for some time. And hear what Perry had to say.

* * *

Norman gloved his hand with a handkerchief and slid it into his pocket. He pulled out a small wire half-way and examined it with a keen gaze. It would have to do. Presently, he was standing n the other side of the one-way mirror. He could see Ethan through it. After carefully dragging the table in the closer to the wall on the right side, Norman removed his shoes and climbed on it.

There was a rectangular window on top, constructed strictly for utility, to be opened only in case the air- conditioning malfunctioned. Something that never seemed to have happened because the window was rusty. He pulled and pulled at it till it budged.

Norman did not have much time and he knew it. It won't take long before somebody would realize that the door was locked. Fortunately, the window opened. And wide enough too. Wide enough for a tall, well-built man to clamber out of. He jumped off the table, pushed it back into place and slipped on his shoes.

He could pull this off. He could pull this off if he just didn't think about it. The die would be cast soon. He was getting Ethan Mars out of there.

* * *

It would be painful to see Ethan again. But Grace wanted to have a few questions answered. She stood at the entrance to the station, trying to spot Norman. _Where are you? _The question answered itself when she saw him emerge from the crowd. "Hey!" Norman visibly started, looked around and then came to her.

"We had a deal, Ms. Garner."

"I want to see Ethan."

"We aren't supposed to be seen together."

"When can I get to see Ethan? I've been waiting since-"

"You're gonna have to wait longer."

Grace wondered if she heard right. "What?" Norman changed the topic. "I've got to go to 11, Frankford Avenue to follow up on some clues."

"Frankford? That's a really notorious street."

"Which is why you're not coming with me this time."

"No, of course, I am! There's no way-"

Norman raised a hand to silence her. "Alright, alright." He had a nagging suspicion that people were beginning to notice. "Look, there's a press conference going on. Maybe you can hear some of it, while I tie up some loose ends. I'll come and fetch you." He started to walk away.

"Fine," Grace said to the back of his head, "I'll just wait right here." She received no sign of acknowledgement from him. Maybe he hadn't heard her at all. He was in a hurry to end the conversation anyway.

Norman cast a furtive glance behind him. Grace wasn't looking at him anymore. Nobody was. And that's when he broke into a run. The keys he had retrieved from the table, seconds before Grace called out for him tinkled in his pocket. Against the wire. The cop watching over Ethan was not around. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom. He did say he was "bursting" to.

He threw open the door. The suddenness startled Ethan. "We don't have much time," the agent said to him, "we gotta get you out right now."

* * *

Scott reclined against the old chair. It creaked, as usual, the way most furniture did when he sat on it. The old room with all the security rooms smelt like a boring office. Boring offices seemed to have that god-awful atmosphere about it, something that Kathy Conley was visibly accustomed to.

She was draped lazily against a chair, her indolent eyes scanning the footage captured by the park cameras between 16:02 to 16:07. Around the time when Shaun was kidnapped. Scott, on the other hand frowned with the attentiveness of a diligent student. They sat glued to the screen, watching the cars move in and out of frame. "It's like a never ending car commercial," Kathy whined.

"I'd rather see it as a 'spot the killer' contest." She smiled. So did he. They came to the end of the video. Scott clenched his jaw. "There's cars all over the place." "'Cept this one." Kathy rose and pointed to a half visible car at the lower end of the frame. "Isn't that Mars' car?" "Nu-uh. This fellow's been lurking around for a longer time."

Scott tipped the chair back to address the operator. "How 'bout a look at the driver, pal?" The man shook his head. "Tha' camera's outta order." "Well, how about a shot of the back, then? The license plate?" "Can do." Some careful maneuvering of the camera angles provided enough screenshot of the license plate. Kathy whooped in triumph. In response to Scott's raised eyebrow, she held out the chit in front of him. _1208. _The number on the license plate and on the chit was the same.

"Waddya waitin' for, Conley? Note down the rest of it!" She was already on the job. "Aye, aye, cap'n."

* * *

_She's dead. _Lauren felt nothing. _Your friend. You both lost sons. She only trusted you. _Still nothing. She was unsure about how long it would take for the immensity of the loss to sink in. Maybe it was acceptance. Fate. Maybe she was meant to lose the people she cared most for. Lauren rolled out of bed.

But only for the sake it. She pulled a chair to sit, at the dining table and buried her face in her hands. A faint beeping sound disturbed the stillness of sorrow. It was the answering machine. She approached it as cautiously as a child would a dead butterfly. And pressed the red button. "Lauren," said the voice. Her voice. Susan's voice.

"The box is at _our_ place. Letting you know just in case… it's probably nothing. I suppose I'm being silly. I'll let you know when we meet next time. " And the message ended.

* * *

The press conference had already begun. Grace seated herself near the exit, in case Norman came looking. Captain Perry rambled on about Ethan's attempt to escape, the police operation that hunted him down and some incriminating, prima facie evidence regarding his true nature. _Lies… all lies. _She wondered if there weren't any reasonable restrictions applicable to freedom of speech. The woman sitting next to her seemed almost as disapproving.

A woman far too attractive to be a journalist. But she was. The press ID around her neck read Madison Paige. She raised her hand to ask him a question. "Yes?" Madison stood up. "Captain Perry, why does a distraught father drown eight boys before kidnapping his own son?" Grace sat up straight. _Exactly… exactly! _There was an awkward silence in the hall.

Perry cleared his throat. "Ethan Mars have been diagnosed with serious psychological disorders." "A father with issues? That's your incriminating evidence?" "He tried to evade police arrest!" The sharpness in his voice echoed in the room. The argument could be refuted. But Madison Paige had been witness to the arrest.

She had been right by Ethan's side. She had seen fear in his eyes. The look of a cornered animal. But not of a serial killer. Never of a serial killer. But this inner eloquence would have failed against Perry's realism. So, she sat down. Grace leaned closer to her. "Which paper do you work for?" That was the first time Madison noticed her.

"The American Tribune," she answered. There was a brief moment when it seemed that Grace would say something more. But she never did and Madison never bothered. She knew she had overstayed her welcome and waited for the tension to subside before she could leave, unnoticed. Grace, on the other hand watched the door from the corner of her eye. And wondered if Norman was beginning to forget the value of time.

* * *

"You're free." Ethan jerked his hand out and flexed his wrist. "What's happening?" Norman peeped out of the door. "They're talking a break. You should be able to slip out later." "Later? What the hell's happening?" "I'm trying to get you out of here." He placed the wire on the table. Ethan picked it up. "What's this?" Norman frowned. "Get your fingerprints on it. Make it look like you picked the lock with the wire." Ethan readily complied.

"Here's what we're gonna do, Ethan. I'm gonna walk outta here pretending nothing happened. You, on the other hand, have to run to the next room and use the window. That's the only way you're getting out without being noticed."

"There's a hitch," Ethan said, with trepidation. "What?" "The cop watching over me." He did not like the look on Norman's face. The agent took a deep breath. "Looks like you're gonna have to take him down, Ethan. Alone."

* * *

Madison ducked out of the hall. "Sorry," she whispered when she accidentally stepped on Grace's toes. But she hardly noticed. She was sending a message to Scott Shelby. _Progress? _It was unrealistic to expect an instant reply but the absence of one put Grace on tenterhooks. Meanwhile, Madison Paige was on the prowl. She did give a slight smile to Charlene on her way to the interrogation room.

The secretary did not respond. Obviously, she valued her job. Madison entered the corridor. There was a supervision room which came first. All the cops would watch the investigation from the inside. The door was closed. She surreptitiously tip-toed down the corridor to the interrogation room. Or thought she was when she heard, "Hey! You there!"

_Caught in the act. _She greeted the approaching officer with a smile. "Oh, hullo there!" No response. His name tag read Officer Mark Lattimer. She unconsciously began to play with her hair. "I was looking for a bathroom." He regarded her with disdain. Madison realized that he was looking at her press ID.

"It's by the corner over there." _Crap…_ Madison walked past him but she did not drop the act. "Why, thank you Mark!" _I'll have to think of something else._ Norman stepped out from behind. "You can take over, Mark. I'll be out for a while." "Of course, sir."

Norman Jayden was a man on a mission. "'Scuse me," he said with a professional briskness to a dawdling Madison Paige who was coming in his way. "Yeah, sorry," she said and stepped aside. He marched past her, past the desks (not before putting the keys back where they should be), past the conference hall. He could see Grace sitting near the door. She did not see him.

He walked out the door and past the cars. Norman felt his conscience jab at him. Whispering to him. Telling him that maybe he should tell her he's leaving. Maybe she did have the right to know… _All the parents of all the children had a right to know…_ He pressed the button on the key pad. The car opened. He got in.

There was no way he was taking her with him. Not a miserable woman. Not someone with personal stakes involved. He would have to tackle questions later when he returned. But there was still time for that.

* * *

Ethan coughed violently. That got Officer Lattimer's attention. He went up to him and bent slightly. The way Norman said he would. Ethan's right hand flew out of nowhere and collided against his throat. Mark gagged at the terrible impact and sank to his knees. Ethan freed his left hand from the already loose cuff. A well-aimed hit to Mark's face with his knee rendered the unfortunate man to be temporarily immobile.

Although he had no time, Ethan stood over the unconscious cop. He had never knocked a man out in his life.

If desperation (and useful advice from Norman) had propelled him to attack a man, urgency had provided stealth to his clumsy feet. He managed to slip into the next room, undetected. The window was open. All he had to do was drag the table right below it.

* * *

Madison Paige gagged too. Over the coffee. There was collective snickering behind her. She figured it was a spectator sport over there. Watching a bunch of suckers try the coffee. _Nonchalant… be nonchalant, _she chanted to herself. Madison sauntered back into the main office. The break was still on. So was that nauseating press conference.

But overall, the place was a lot more calm. Which meant she only had time until the break ended. Maybe not a conversation, but if she could only get a picture of Ethan in custody, her day wouldn't be wasted. She got an idea. _The supervision room!_ She could take a snap through that one-way mirror. Of course, there was that problem of sneaking in, but Madison decided to give it a shot anyway.

She made sure no one was looking when she approached the corridor. The door to the supervision room was slightly ajar. _Odd…_ Madison pushed the door open. She saw that the table had been pulled right up to a window. And then, she noticed a pair of legs scrambling through it and then a sound of a body falling heavily on the ground on the other side.

Madison was paralyzed and stood still, her mouth open. She turned to see the interrogation room through the mirror through the mirror. There was a guard lying unconscious on the floor and a pair of handcuffs dangling at the edge of the table. Madison Paige tore out of the room, unmindful of any animate or inanimate object that stood in her way.

* * *

Grace was finding it increasingly difficult to sit in our place. She had been temporarily reassured by Scott's answer to her message. Apparently, he was getting somewhere. _Not me_, _she_ fumed. She was here to see Ethan and then go with Norman. None of that seemed to be happening. Grace felt like a fool. An absolute fool. Red-faced, she stormed out of the press conference and right into Norman's office.

He wasn't there. Detective Conley didn't seem to be anywhere either. Feeling helpless now, Grace approached Charlene, mostly because she knew no one else and partly because the woman had a certain serenity about here. "Where would I find Agent Jayden?" she asked her, attempting to sound impersonal.

"He left a minute or so ago." Grace felt she was going to be sick again. "I want to speak to Ethan Mars. He's my-" She gestured strangely. "-You know. When can I?" Charlene nodded towards Blake, who stood a little distance away. He was talking to Ash. "Thank you," Grace said, with a forced smile. Blake frightened her. She straightened and tried to walk more authoritatively.

"Lieutenant Blake." Both the men broke their conversation mid-way and looked at her. They waited for her to say something but their looks were far from welcoming. Grace cleared her throat. "I have a request-" Suddenly , out of nowhere, a seemingly crazy woman rushed past, knocking Grace and another officer over. "Shit!" Blake cursed as he watched her go.

Ash helped Grace to her feet. "Lieutenant, I have to-""Lieutenant Blake!" an officer called out. "What now?" "Please see for yourself, sir!" Blake and Ash followed the officer to the interrogation room with Grace chasing after them. The trio froze at the sight.

The officer said what Grace had never prepared herself to hear. "Ethan Mars has escaped." "It's a lie." They looked at Grace. "It's a lie!" The officer continued. "It seems that he used a wire to pick the handcuff and then attacked Lattimer." "Stop it!" She had their attention again.

"Stop all this! Ethan does not know how to pick locks and he could never hurt anyone!" The men in the room seemed more annoyed than sympathetic at her outburst. "When was the last time you spoke to Ethan, Ms. Garner?" Blake sneered. Grace did not have an answer. It had been two years. "Do not forget that it was you, who, not less than 12 hours ago, tipped us off about him." Her eyes filled with terror.

"No, I never tipped… I didn't know- but… he'd never-""Goddammit." Blake rolled his eyes. "Ash, get her out of here." Ash took her by the arm. "This way, Ms. Garner." Grace shrugged it away. "I don't need anyone!" "No, of course not!" She dragged herself out of the corridor and out of that dismal, lifeless place. "I never did," she muttered to herself.

Trapped between the greyness of the world around her – the buildings, the cars, the puddles and the grey skies above, Grace Garner never felt more alone.

* * *

Oblivious to the commotion she had created, and was further escalating inside the station, Madison went racing and tripping across the pavement and into the alley where the window opened. At the end of the alley, she could see a dark shadow struggling to climb up the wire mesh to the other side. She sprinted towards him. Ethan, in his panic, fell at the other end of the partition.

"Ow!" Madison whimpered when she tripped over a dumpster and fell into the mud. There was an eerie silence in the air. All she could hear was the sound of the rain. And then- "I know you!" She looked up and squinted through mud-lined eyes at the silhouette. Ethan gripped the fence tightly. "You have my phone!" Madison strained to pick herself up and staggered to the fence.

"Where is my phone?" "Ethan-""Where the fuck is my phone?" He shook the fence in his rage. Madison looked behind, then back at him. "Ethan, look, they're coming for you! I'll meet you at your end of the alley. Hide there. I'll come with my bike. If it's safe for you to come out, I'll say 'Julius'." Ethan shook his head. "All right."

* * *

The front door of Susan Bowles' house was sealed. Lauren exhaled slowly. _Of course, what were you expecting? _There had to be another way of going around the house. She exited from Susan's gate and stood outside another neighbor's. Experimentally, she rang the bell. No one answered. _Good._ She stepped over the fence and into Susan's lawn.

_The box is at our place. _"Our place" was the lawn. Rather, a corner of it where they planned to grow flowers together. To a first time visitor, nothing there would seem out of place. Lauren was puzzled too. _How could she hide a box here? Did I get the place wrong? Or did I not understand the message? _She noticed an innocuous looking plant in a small pot. It was not meant to be there. Lauren knelt and picked it up.

_You could not have hidden a box in here, Suz. _She dug two of her fingers into the muddy soil, purely on instinct. A sharp metal grazed her skin. She pulled a small key out of it. It was a key to a tiny safe in her wardrobe. She knew because Susan had told her, not long ago. Because she trusted her. _This means I've to go back inside. _The only way in, for now, was through the kitchen window. The latch was always loose and Susan never got it fixed. Lauren knocked against it with her fist till it slipped downwards, and the window opened.

She climbed in, almost knocking her head against the window frame. For a moment, she stood there, trying to recognize her surroundings. Nothing in the house was different. But somehow, it felt so. She ducked under the "Do Not Cross" lines in her way and climbed up the stairs, two at a time. Lauren promised to be quick about this since she had to report to the station soon.

She entered the room. It had been ransacked by whoever… killed her. The thought made her shudder. She moved sideways or jumped over sheets, bills, pillows or anything else that had been thrown around the room. _What box, Suz? Which box were you talking about? _She opened her wardrobe and thrust the key into a small locker. It opened. To her surprise, there was a box inside.

Lauren pulled it out with shaking hands and opened it. There were origami figures inside.

* * *

Norman has reached 11, Frankford Avenue. Grace had been right. The area did look notorious. It was a good thing he did not take her along. If running against an impossible deadline wasn't bad enough, being responsible for another person during that time definitely was. He rung the door bell and waited. After a while, he pressed it again. There didn't seem to be anyone home.

Norman swore under his breath. As of now, there were two courses of action. He could try getting in and looking for anything useful. Clearly unlawful, as it had been in the case of Nathaniel Williams. But it was different this time. Nathaniel had only been a suspect. Peter Linden had a clear connection to the case.

Or… he could just come some other time. Obviously, the latter did not quite appeal to him. He walked around the house. Linden did not seem to have a fetish for lawns. There was nothing but a concrete pathway around the house. _They sure love dullness around here. _He wandered to the back of the house and detected some movement through the window. He tapped lightly at the window pane.

Norman wasn't sure; a curtain was coming in the way. There was some murmuring, but then again Norman was doubtful. The curtain was pulled aside. He barely caught a glimpse of the man peeping through the glass. Wordlessly, Norman flashed his FBI credentials. Linden looked worried. He nodded and pointed to the front door. Norman walked the length of the house, back to the door.

It opened and he stepped out. "Took you quite a while to open the door," Norman remarked. "Yeah, sorry about that man. Knocked off in there." Norman looked at the sky and back at Linden. "You mind if we talk inside?" "Huh?" He tensed further. "Sure, sure, why not?" They entered a dingy hall, a terribly confined place with a distinct odor of cigarette butts. Norman instantly preferred his office back at the Met police department.

It was sparse, save for an old TV set, an older couch, a lamp and other odds and ends. No particular sign of domestication. "I'm Agent Norman Jayden from the FBI…" "Yeah, I saw that-""I'd like to ask you a few questions." "Go ahead." Linden was disturbingly uneasy.

"Is everything okay?" Norman found himself asking. "Yeah, it is." Norman looked at the closed door of one of the rooms. "Someone with you?" "No, just me." The question answered itself when he heard a distinct sneeze from behind the door. The alarm bells in his head began to ring. "What's goin' on in here?" Linden impulsively stood in his way. "Nothing! I – I'm alone here!"

Norman pulled out his gun. "Open that door." "Wh-what?" "Open the fucking door." Linden shivered visibly, taking his own time to walk up to the door. He slowly pushed open the door. "There's nobody here, man! I was telling you-"Norman stepped in. There were packets of cocaine on the bed. "What the-"He lowered his gun. Suddenly, the door swung at him and crashed against his right shoulder.

There had been someone standing behind the door. His fingers twitched on the impact and the gun fired. Judging by the wailing and a thud, Linden had presumably been shot in the leg. A man stepped out from behind the door and landed a punch to the agent's face. Inflicting the first blow always had its advantages. Norman fell sideways and the gun slipped from his hands.

He kicked blindly in the air and got the man in his groin. Norman tried to crawl away in that margin of time. Unfortunately, the man recovered in seconds. He grabbed his ankles and pulled him lower down towards himself. Then he hauled Norman up by his collars and rammed him repeatedly against a wall. Norman managed a head butt in between which loosened the grip somewhat. He forced his way out of the man's grasp, with his head throbbing on both sides.

He reached for the bed-side lamp. The man grabbed him from behind. Norman elbowed him hard in the ribs before swinging the lamp down on his head. While the hammering in his heart and the rage provided suitable enough adrenaline, it also clouded his vision when it came to combat with a clear mind. He was also too disoriented to effectively resist when that man charged at him, head to stomach and knocked him down.

The fight was a lost cause before it had even begun. The man, Joseph Kowalski, was much bigger than him in size. And he had killed men before. Effortlessly, efficiently. Quickly. When his thick fingers wrapped around Norman's neck and squeezed his throat, that realization dawned on him. He struggled in a final flash of valiance but it stood no chance against his strength.

Norman tried to pry his fingers loose but that did not help either. The final traces of air left his lungs, leaving a corrosive burning in its wake. Norman tried to thrash his legs about, but not too much. The man was straddling across them.

The raw terror, the red fear of the situation weighed heavily upon him now. He was about to die. On the field, with his boots on. Only one thought entered his frenzied mind._ Pity…_ An acceptance descended. His now watery eyes were slowly beginning to roll back into his head. His fingers slipped away from his tormentor's. His parted lips stopped moving. _Such a pity…_

* * *

**Author's note : **Quicker updates with shorter chapters? Or longer ones that take longer time to upload? Do lemme know!


	10. The saving Grace

Hi there folks! I know, I know, I made you all take a vote on longer updates, shorter ones, and I feel so guilty about getting so busy. As compensation, here's a nice, big chapter for you all! Let me not hold you now.

* * *

Ethan struggled with the handlebars. It caused the bike to wobble. "Easy there!" Madison squeaked in alarm when she got thrown against him. He turned around, embarrassed, apologetic and nervous in almost equal measure.

"Maybe it's better if I sit behind. I haven't biked since high school."

Madison vigorously nodded. "Keep looking ahead! No one can recognize you with a helmet on, so stop drawing attention to yourself!"

"Alright."

"We're nearly there. The motel's not too far from the signal."

Ethan bit his lower lip hard. He never really had time to think this through. Who was this woman? Why was she trying to help him? How did she know he was staying in a motel?

The light turned green.

"Drive Ethan!"

Madison kept looking behind to see if they were being followed. So far so good, for now. They went bouncing unevenly for the rest of the way.

* * *

Norman heard her before he saw her. Or was it the other way around? He couldn't tell. Maybe that was one of the many downsides to being strangled for a dangerously prolonged period of time. Either way, it did not change the sequence of events.

He saw a flash of red and gray burst through the door. The woman's hands were clasped around the base of a lamp. Her arms swayed backwards before returning in a forceful arch, right for the man's head.

The first blow successfully loosened his grip on the agent. The second knocked him over. Norman felt his chest expand and madly gasped for oxygen. The cold air seared his throat, only to have his lungs expel it out in rasping coughs.

He blinked repeatedly till he could see his benefactor clearly. He realized that this was not the first time she had helped him.

Grace Garner stood over him, eyes wide and body tense with fear. The eye contact was short-lived, just as Joseph Kowalski's anguish had been on being hit. He grabbed her by the ankles and swept her feet off the ground.

Grace landed head over heels, but that was never as pleasant as the metaphoric phrase. She did slam a kick into his rugged face before crawling out of his reach. She ended up backing against the wall, which meant that there was no place to run.

Norman flipped onto his stomach and crawled entirely on his forearms. His legs, now asleep, were burning each time he moved. Grace lashed her hands out in a one-sided scuffle. Kowalski seemed amused by her efforts. He twisted her hands and pinned her down. It was so easy. Grace tried to fold her knees up to her chest in an instinct that was purely self-preservative.

She did not want to think about what he would do to her. His hands were everywhere.

There was a sharp burst of metal against metal which resounded in the air. Joseph Kowalski's shoulder exploded and the warm liquid poured out of the opening. A lot of it splattered onto her face.

The second bullet got him on the side of his knee. He fell off her. Grace dared to raise her eyes and saw him. Norman was barely able to kneel. The hand holding the gun shook. He switched the side of the gun and the butt faced outwards. Norman half-crawled and half-dragged himself closer to the fallen man. Grace shrank closer against the wall, unable to look away from the sight. She could hear the other injured man yell something from across the room but it was a voice from far away.

Norman raised his arm. Her eyes were fixed on it. On the butt of the gun that loomed threateningly over Kowalski's face. The sound of metal crushing bone filled the air the next instant. Norman had broken the man's nose. Two more blows to his face left him unconscious. And made another opening for the blood to ooze out of.

It took him all his restraint to resist blowing his attacker's brains out. And also the awareness that an innocent woman would be witness to his most dreadful side. One he himself did not have the courage to face.

She watched him carefully, her arms protectively criss-crossed around her chest. She was afraid. Afraid of what he had done. Afraid of what he was capable of doing. Grace would probably never believe him if he told her that this was new for him too. They had, after all, seen the worst of each other in the last 24 hours.

Norman offered her his hand. It was a feeble gesture of reassurance. Grace did not take it. "Are you okay?" he asked. She shook her head and gradually picked herself up. There was blood on her shirt. She clung to the wall and groped her way to the bathroom.

"I'll be with you in a minute," Norman said, but only got the soft clicking of the door in response. He hobbled back to where Linden lay – crumpled and holding on to his knee for dear life.

"Motherfucker!" he screamed, "You killed him!" Norman grabbed him by his collar and pulled his face closer to his. "I'll kill you too," he said, with an unnatural calm, "if you don't give me what I'm looking for."

The fear of death worked wonders for Peter Linden's communication skills. In mafia terms, he began to sing. Norman Jayden chose not to disclose his partner's well-being so soon. With the gun pointed at Linden, he dropped painfully into the nearest chair.

He pressed his free hand to his temple to ease the throbbing. Linden was saying something about suppliers, first offences and expressed a deep willingness to part with some of "the snow" if it kept him out of the joint. Norman waved the gun impatiently.

"All I wanna know is why you were at Café De La Crème last night with a drugged coffee for a man named Ethan Mars."

"Drugged coffee? Wha- what are you –"

Norman's thumb lazily played with the safety catch. The clicking sound helped jog Linden's memory.

"Shit man, let me think!"

"You're taking too much time. I don't have it on my side."

"No, wait!"

He sat up in his desperation. Norman saw the blood from his leg dripping to from a black crust on the carpet. Linden would need medical help soon. He clutched his leg and let out a cursing whine at the pain.

"There- there was a guy who came to me. Gave me some money, told me to throw it some coke and leave it at the counter. Didn't think much of it. I thought he meant it as some sort of joke."

Norman tried to straighten in his chair. "I need a name."

"He said it's Aaron."

Linden paused to sob over the terrible wound. His jeans were turning into a sickening shade of dark purple. "Look man, you gotta take me to a hospital."

"His name was Aaron. What else? How did he get in touch with you?"

"I dunno, man! All sortsa people have my number! They pass it around!"

Norman rose from the chair. "What did he look like?"

"Look man, if you're-"

"What did he look like?" Norman snarled.

Linden sank back to the floor, struggling to talk between all the panting. "Didn't see his face. Had glares on. White guy, around six feet. I don't know more, I swear!"

"You're wasting my time."

Norman started to walk away.

"Tattoo! He had a tattoo!"

The 'walking away' tactic proved more than helpful in the case of desperate men. Norman walked right back.

* * *

Scott fiddled with the asthma pump on his dashboard. He was waiting for Kathy outside the car registration office. She was inside, trying to trace the owner of the car used for kidnapping Shaun Mars. Scott hated government offices. All those self-righteous bureaucrats sitting around, thinking they owned you. He wondered what they did with all that paperwork.

"Fat guy!"

Scott barely flinched.

"Hello, Conley."

She slipped a file to him through the car window. It landed on his lap. He looked at it and back at her. "What's in the file?"

"Too lazy to pick it up?"

"Just saving us some time."

Kathy climbed into the backseat and leaned over till her chin touched his shoulder. "Guy's name is Minelli. Rents cars but has his own thing going on the side. Not that he's ever been caught. Scraggly fellow, looks as shady as his business."

Scott popped open the file and glanced at it. Kathy secretly marveled at how he could read everything vertically and commit it to memory.

"Looks like we're gonna have to make a brief stop at the P.D., Detective."

"What for?"

"We're getting ourselves a phone-tapping device."

"Trick up your sleeve?"

"Always."

* * *

Lauren Winter had walked into a storm. A zoo with animals running amok would have been far less tumultuous than the police department. She held on to the shoe box she was carrying. There were phone calls being made, petrol cars being deployed, loud cursing to be heard from a corner.

A high profile suspect had escaped heavily guarded captivity. Heads would roll.

She followed the string of expletives to its source. Lieutenant Carter Blake had turned an unhealthy shade of red. Office Mark Lattimer was at the receiving end. Detective Ash was barking orders to someone on the phone. Lauren stood uncertainly at the corner.

She waited till she caught his eye. He came to her, breaking away from the phone for just enough time to say, "Not a good day." Lauren waited for him to ask about the shoe box, but all he did was curse someone named David at the other end. She brought the box to his eye level.

"I need you to take a look at-"

He pushed it away from his eyes. "Damn! Can't you see I'm-?"

"I can see and I think you'll find it useful."

She removed the lid. Ash looked inside and froze. At a better time his stillness would have seemed mildly comical. He put his hand in, but pulled it out the next instant. "Where- where did you find this?"

"At Susan's. It was inside her wardrobe."

"When?"

"This morning."

"How did you get in? There were police lines taped all over-"

"That's not impor-"

"They say 'Do Not Cross' for a reason!"

"Why the fuck haven't you called Deeker yet?" Blake shouted somewhere over the din.

"On it, Lieutenant."

Ash began dialing the number. Lauren began feeling incredibly stupid. "What do you want?" Blake snapped from down the corridor. Lauren wondered if he was talking to her.

"You! Yes, you! Blocking the way!" Not sure of where else to go, Lauren walked straight on, right towards Blake. "I found these at Susan Bow-"

"You can report your grievances to Detective Rosalind Hooper at-"

"No – no! You don't understand! She was up to something! She'd called me and-"

Blake walked off. "Detective Rosalind," he repeated over his shoulder. Lauren went chasing after him. "Hey!" She pulled an origami figure out of the box and unfurled it. Blake looked like he would've bitten her head off till he laid his eyes on the origami figure. He resumed walking, this time expecting her to keep up.

"Who did- where…"

Lauren could anticipate the barrage of questions."Susan Bowles. Mother of eighth victim. Murdered. Called me before and told me about these figures."

His buzzing phone cut her short. Blake answered it and began a fresh bout of swearing at the unfortunate caller. "Do I look like someone who's interested in buying a vacuum cleaner? Do I? Get me one that sucks up fucktards like you and I'll buy it."

He looked like he would throw his phone away. Lieutenant Carter Blake held on to it out of sheer necessity. He was also in a hurry to shake off an increasingly nervy Ms. Winter. "What's your point? Be snappy!"

"I think the Origami Killer's case has a connection with her murder. She called me around half an hour before her death. She told me about the origami figures with the addresses."

"And?"

"I think she was attacked by the Origami Killer."

Lauren did not even need to hear Blake's words to know that she had lost his attention.

"You've been misinformed. The killer was in our custody until this morning."

"It can't be…"

Blake started to walk away again. "It can't be!" She ran and overtook him to block his way. Blake looked her right in the eye, presently out of contempt.

"Get out of my way."

"No."

He carelessly shoved her aside. Lauren bumped into the wall. Blake did not seem to have noticed or cared. Lauren steadied herself. She held the cardboard box to her chest.

"Over 3,500 people were questioned." Blake slowed down but did not stop walking. "100 suspects were interrogated." No response.

"There were still eight victims. My son being the seventh one."

Blake stopped walking. Stood frighteningly still. And then he turned.

"I knew I'd seen you somewhere before."

"I came here a year ago, hoping to find my son." She stepped closer to him. "Five days later I knew I wanted to have nothing to do with anyone in this world." She emphatically shook the box.

"But this woman is the reason I want to try. I did not know her until a week ago. But I do know that she had been up to something. I know above all certainty that unlike me, she chose to hunt down the bastard who killed my son. And hers. She'd sworn on Jeremy's coffin."

She saw something twitch in his hardened face. And then she noticed the silence all around her. Lauren Winter decided that she had effectively humiliated herself. Blake gestured her to follow him.

"Let's talk at my work station."

* * *

Grace Garner looked at herself in the grimy mirror. There was blood on her. Streaks of it on her face, globs of it on her whitish-gray shirt. She tried to remind herself that she was a doctor. And that there was a time when she had had more blood on herself. Jason's blood. A little of Ethan's too.

She leaned closer to the mirror. There was blood on her neck and lower. Grace could feel herself getting sick. She unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged it off. The blood was still fresh and damp. It allowed the water from the tap to lave against it, till it turned a light pink and swiveled down the drain.

She splashed water with growing urgency on her face and neck. Grace felt like Lady Macbeth. Except that the spots and stains were real. And seemingly impossible to obliterate. Like her past. She felt her throat was on fire. The heat travelled to her mouth.

When she opened it, a yellow slime spilled into the sink. Grace waited for more to come. Fortunately, there wasn't any more. She thoroughly rinsed her mouth before going back to clawing the blood off her neck. The stains could no longer be seen, but Grace could sense the warm stickiness. _Feel _it. The door of the bathroom opened.

Norman stepped in. Grace made a grab for her shirt and pressed it against her chest, desperate to salvage what was left of her modesty. Their eyes met and the contact lingered longer than it should have. Norman was the first to break away, coloring visibly at the little he had got a glimpse of. From his pale skin, it was easy to tell.

Grace turned her back to him and threw on her wet shirt. It clung to her skin. "I need you outside, Ms. Garner. The man is inclined to talk, but only with timely medical intervention." She fumbled with the buttons. "Okay."

There was a tense silence in the air. The strain seemed to bounce off the walls. "Think you're up for it?"

"I'll try," she replied.

Norman did not say anything further, but Grace knew he was still standing there. She could hear him breathe. Finally, there was a rush of air and the sound of the door closing. When Grace turned around, she saw that Agent Norman Jayden had left his jacket hanging behind the door. For her to wear.

* * *

Ethan Mars kept his head low and waited in the dark alleyway next to the motel. Madison had only been gone for a few minutes but it still meant losing precious time. He waited some more, then looked at his watch. Five minutes had elapsed.

_Cops swooping in on me, right now. What are the odds? _There was a rattling sound right above him. Curiosity overpowered his need for anonymity and he looked up. Madison was struggling with the fire escape ladder. She pushed it down. Ethan grabbed the lowermost rung when it came to his eye level and pulled it lower.

A fierce clattering sound rose from the joints and spiraled downwards. Madison's 'shushing' could barely be heard over the brief racket. Ethan placed a shaking foot on the ladder and began the climb. He was using his arms more than his wobbly legs.

Madison beat her hand in the air, a desperate gesture to imply that someone was coming. "Balcony, balcony!" she whispered. Ethan looked to his left. It was a dicey jump. He held on to the ladder with one hand, the other half of him hanging mid-air. This was all about timing.

He gripped the outer rim of the ladder. His feet shifted as far back on the rung as they could. There was not much scope for a running jump, but it was still worth a shot. For a man who'd thrown himself out of a running train, this promised to be a cake-walk.

He swung forward and flew through the air. His chin collided against the railing. The impact jangled the nerves in his face. He felt dizzy. Still, he pulled himself above and over the railing and fell onto the balcony with a 'thud'. Madison saw the creepy receptionist approach. "Cody," she smiled. "Hullo, Madison," he said in that god-awful voice, "what's with all the noise?"

"Noise? What noise?"

"Like a fire escape unlatching metallic noise."

Ethan pushed open the sliding door which led to the room. It made a nasty screeching sound. Cody leaned over the corridor railing. "You heard that, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She wondered if she was pushing the disbelieving act a little too far. "Wait, let me check." He pulled out a master key. Madison felt the hot flush rise to her face.

"Hey, you can't just-"

Cody opened the door and entered.

"-enter-"

She ran in. The door to the balcony was closed. She saw a muddy sneaker slip under the bed just in time. "See? No one here." Cody scratched his head. "I thought there was…"

"Maybe you've been drinking?"

"Nah, been a boy scout. Just quit smoking too."

"Explains why you're so jittery."

"Yeah…" he leaned against the window pane. "I think you're right."

"So… let's get you some coffee, shall we?" Madison couldn't believe she was asking him out for coffee. She would have kicked herself if she was flexible enough. "You'd like some?" he snorted gleefully. "Yeah, sure," she heard herself say.

_Super duper._

"After you," she smiled with a grand flourish. "Hell, yeah," he said and gave a pleased grunt. He patted her arm on his way out. Madison made a mental note to crush his hand before checking out of the place. As Cody approached the door, she dropped the key to her room. Softly, on her foot so that there was no sound. She brought her foot closer to the bed and tipped it over. The key slid under the bed. Within Ethan's reach.

Hopefully, he would use the diversion to get out, sooner or later. At least before the occupant of the room arrived. She stepped out into the corridor, promising to return and pull the ladder up before Cody came back for a double-check.

* * *

Kathy Conley had the rest of the day sorted. She would leave her car at the P.D. parking lot, make a grab for the device and hitch a ride with Scott. She was glad she wouldn't be investigating alone anymore. It felt safe to be around Scott. He always knew exactly what he was doing. She trusted him. The case would be cracked like a broken egg in no time.

Nothing could go out of place. Almost. There were considerably lesser people at the station than she last remembered. _Fine time to take a vacation. _She swiped her access card on the panel. The door of the equipment room opened. Kathy walked between the aisles, fingering each device.

"_Find me one that connects to a TNI box," _Scott had said. Whistling lightly, she grabbed the one she was looking for. Kathy decided to drop a word with Charlene on the way out. As usual, she had her head down, keeping busy at all hours. One always wondered why her brain didn't self-destruct.

"Charlene." The woman looked up, surprised. "Where were you? Lieutenant Blake was looking all over!"

"Why, what's the matter?"

"Ethan Mars has escaped." Kathy straightened, hands in pocket and lips tightly pressed. "I am not sure how to react to that."

Charlene nodded in understanding. "It's been a shock for all of us."

"Yeah, well," Kathy shrugged, "it's a part of the professional hazards."

The secretary was surprised. "I think your reaction may be a little misdirected, Detective."

"Just be a dear and tell Lieutenant Blake, I'm heading out again. And that I've taken this with me. She waved the device and started to walk away.

"But where were you?" Charlene called out to her. "Where are you going now?"

Kathy smiled at her. "Crime-fighting, Mrs. Taylor. The same as everyone else."

* * *

It had been raining mothers since yesterday. Lieutenant Carter Blake felt so because they made a beeline for him. _You'd think I was the man giving out free Mother's Day coupons. _He endured Lauren Winter's talk only because he had his eye on the cardboard box.

The police were out looking for Ethan and the origami figures could provide significant leads on the deranged bastard's whereabouts. But he wouldn't be needing Ms. Winter's 'help' for that. Grace Garner had turned up with a similar proposition the night before and he hadn't exactly welcomed it with open arms.

Lauren Winter was still talking. Blake marveled over the ability of certain women to yammer on, regardless. A trait that reminded him of Sarah. He remembered her wistfully now. But also with guilt.

"Ms. Winter," he interrupted, "its best if you leave the box here and let my officers have a look at it." Lauren adamantly shook her head.

"I want to help."

"You can by keeping your eyes and ears open for Ethan Mars."

"You don't understand! Or you're probably incapable of it! I found this box quicker than all your officers. Susan trusted me and she wanted me to have it. The box and I are a package deal. If this comes with you, I get to come with it."

She reached for the box. Blake laid a heavy hand on it and pulled it closer to himself. "With all due respect Ms. Winter, you cannot tamper or withhold evidence procured from the crime scene. Every bit of evidence we find in your possession makes you vulnerable and punishable under the law."

She bowed her head as if in deep thought. "Okay." Blake was surprised. He didn't expect her to leave without a fight. She rose, tentatively. She gave a final look to the box in Blake's hands. And then, she left.

* * *

"It's okay," Grace assured an injured Linden as she reached for his leg. "I'm a doctor." He simply nodded. Grace noticed how sweaty he was. "Where do you keep your first-aid box?" Linden tried to concentrate. "In- in the bathroom, I guess…"

"I was using it, there's nothing there."

"I don't know, then…"

"Never mind, never mind," she muttered. "Toss me a pillow, Agent Jayden."

"Here you go."

Grace pulled the pillowcase off and folded it into a small square which she pressed gently against the wound. "I need scissors," she said to him.

"Drawer," he gasped. Norman pulled them out.

"Could you cut me a large enough strip to bandage this in?"

"On it."

He cut a large enough strip for the purpose. She mouthed a 'thank you' to him. Norman crouched next to Linden. "Tell me about the tattoo."

"It was a rose, with a serpent coiling up the stem. The serpent had- ow, fuck!"

"Sorry," Grace said.

"What about the serpent?" Norman probed.

"Had his mouth open like he was gonna eat the rose."

"Do you have a notebook and a pen?"

"Drawer."

Norman reached for them. He made a vague sketch guided by Linden's verbal description. "Something like this?" Linden nodded. "Close."

"I'm done," Grace said and forced herself to her feet. She lumbered her way to where Kowalski was lying and for a moment considered bandaging him as well. She had cut a few strips of the sheet for him. Instead, she tied his hands and feet together. She turned and saw that Norman had been watching her.

"I'm calling 911," he said to her, "Wait outside. We need to talk." "Sure," she trailed off and dragged herself out of the door. Norman's black Impala was the first thing that stood before her when she stepped out. Grace leaned into it, her forehead resting on the roof. She felt so weak, so violated. Even the raindrops felt heavy on her.

She would have shivered if it wasn't for Norman's jacket. And if it wasn't for the body heat that had previously warmed it. His body heat, she self-consciously realized but clung nevertheless to the jacket for comfort and protection.

The parka felt enormous around her. She felt small and insignificant under it. But Grace had felt like that for a while now. The jacket wasn't reminder enough. Mother Nature was.

* * *

"Here," Blake handed over the box to Ash. "Take good care of this. Could lead us somewhere good." Ash looked down at the box. "This the same one Ms. Winter brought in? The one with the origami figures?"

"The exact same, Detective." Ash peered closely at the box. Lauren had found it at Susan Bowles'. A cardboard box with origami figures. And then the woman wound up dead. He felt the need to examine the paper figures again. With Mars absconding, this seemed an interesting development. One worthy for the Lieutenant to pursue.

He opened the box. And froze for the second time that day.

"Lieutenant." Blake was by the water cooler, getting himself a drink.

"Lieutenant Blake!"

"What?"

"They aren't here!"

Blake tossed the half-full plastic cup into the bin. Ash held the box out to him. He looked inside. There were no origami figures inside. Lauren Winter had been grossly underestimated.

* * *

**Author's note: **Pooh, yes, I had my internship and that kept me busy for a month. Had exams before that. Gave up writing HR fics for a while after my Worlds Collide notebook (my 2nd HR fic) was accidently sent off for recycling and subsequently shredded.

But waddya know? I finally posted my first double digit chapter (10). Couldn't have imagined it would happen someday. :)

I wrote this in really short notice because I'm going out of town to a hill-station and I'm not sure if I can upload from there. I'm cool as long as I don't get omens. Like the day when the Heavy Rain soundtracks kept popping up one after the other in random shuffle. Like the time I was watching this Billy Crystal film where he names a calf he just helped deliver "Norman." Like the Grace Ceramics store I saw on the way to college. Basically, loads of reminders for me to get back to writing! :)

(These days I'm beginning to wonder if Edward Norton and Jennifer Connelly would make a great Norman – Grace. And that Teri Hatcher would rock as Lauren Winter. Random, I know. :P Though I'd never touch the original casting.)

I'm so glad all of you have been so supportive and consistently reviewed. And yes, I want moaaaaar! xD Despite the tremendous delay in posting Chapter 9, I was so glad to see that you all managed to review it. Means a lot. A lot.

Chapter 10 was intended to be much longer (4-5 more scenes), but I was so horrified at the length, I had to shift the good stuff for later.

Thank you all – Press X to Allie, Jim Slade, Urban Cowboy, Chyrstis (hey, thanks for the concern and Twitter messages!), Betty Royale, Honky Tonk Man, Greased Lightening, mythstoorfoot, Witchy Bee. I hope I haven't left anyone out.

Please read and review. It's the right thing to do! xD Feelzies nicies.


	11. Look at me

"_Justice is incidental to law and order" – J. Edgar Hoover, FBI Director, 1935 - 1972._

* * *

Grace wrapped her arms tighter around herself. She was so cold. The door of the house opened and closed behind her. Norman stood on the porch, carefully studying her and steadying himself for what he was about to say. He approached her drooping frame. "When I said 'wait outside', I didn't exactly mean 'out in the rain'." Grace did not raise her head from the roof of the car.

"I wanted to," she said and it felt as if she was talking to the car. Norman momentarily considered placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. It wavered uncertainly between them. After a moment of indecision, he decided not to.

"Get in the car, Ms. Garner."

He did not mean for it to sound like the command it did. Grace clambered in and Norman walked the length of the car to get to his seat. His fastened his seat belt. "Where's yours?" he asked her.

She leaned against her door, blinking and staring into nothingness. "At the P.D. Took a taxi till here. Wasn't up for driving."

Norman got the car started. "What made you come here? After I told you not to?"

Grace gave him a look of absolute incredulity. "Sounds like you'd rather be dead than have me here."

"You'd have been dead too," he muttered. Grace heard it. She waited for it to pass.

"I came here for answers. I came here because Ethan is on the run. I thought you'd know something about it."

Norman felt that sinking feeling again. Just when he thought he was used to it. "I was out," he almost stuttered, "I got a phone call from the department informing me of his escape." All those years in the Bureau and he was still a bad liar. Luckily, Grace did not push her luck or his patience.

"Where are we going?" she asked instead.

Norman was driving now but he still gave her a brief sideward glance. "I am, you mean. You're not going anywhere." He sounded so calm and nonchalant about it. As if her opinion never mattered.

"I don't understand…" she began.

"I'm dropping you home."

"But why? What did I do?"

He did not seem to have heard her.

"You're gonna tell me the way," he said in a voice that was far from cordial, "or I'm dropping you off at the P.D."

Grace was beginning to get desperate. "I'm not going anywhere, you hear me! I'm coming with you!"

"P.D. it is," he said and continued to drive.

"You're wasting your time," she went on. "I won't be getting off there and you can't make me."

"Can't I?" he said and Grace saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. Threateningly. His lack of response angered her. The man was exasperating. She would have hit him if he hadn't been driving. Something told her he would have done the same if he hadn't been behind the wheel.

"You don't get to make my decisions for me! You just don't!" she protested.

Norman inhaled sharply and pulled over to the side of the road. "You can either let me drop you home or the P.D. Otherwise this is as far as I can take you. It's your choice."

Grace felt angry and humiliated when the tears rushed down in small rivulets. Norman looked away. "I am _not_ going home… I won't back down. Not now." She wiped her face. Norman ran his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to yank them out of his scalp. "You don't understand, do you? The investigation's not some routine question-answer round anymore! It's gonna get uglier! More dangerous! And as a federal agent, it is my duty to safeguard- "

"Oh, spare this crap for the rookies!" Grace burst out in mock laughter. It did nothing to improve Norman's mood. "I didn't sign up to take you along as a liability!"

"Oh no no no!" Grace snapped her fingers at him. One party was just as unyielding as the other. He shot her a furious glare. "Let's rewind to back there in the house, Agent Jayden! If I recall correctly, I was the 'liability' that saved your ass back there!"

His frown deepened and his mouth twisted cruelly. He was going to hit her. She recklessly persisted. "You were the one getting his windpipe crushed! If it wasn't for me, you'd have been buried alive in an unmarked grave and nobody would've given a damn!"

Norman's expression changed. It was something she could not read. But Grace knew she had gone too far. Norman looked straight, with wide eyes and an impassioned mouth open. Then he looked right at her.

"Get out of the car."

"You can't - I…"

"Get out of _my _car."

Grace resolutely held on to her seat. "Don't do this…" she said in a pleading tone. It sounded pathetic to her ears. It must've sounded worse to Norman's. He forcefully unbuckled his seat belt. "If you don't wanna give me the directions, you can find your own way home."

He leaned closer to her. She tilted away. "I have enough problems of my own, so help me God if I don't want to lug around a high-pitched redhead's corpse after some roadside hooligan's done with her."

Norman unfastened her seat belt. "If clues are all you want, I'll tell you everything. Hell, you can keep them in your safe. But…" He angled closer to the door. Grace winced when his arm nearly grazed her breast. His hand closed around the door's handle. "…I can't take my chances with you around."

Grace could now feel every word he said. His warm breath punctuated every vocable against her icy skin. The door sprang open and the cold wind and rain sent a mild quiver down her spine. Norman was still leaning precariously forward as his pale blue eyes seared hers with its intensity.

"You'd be more of a hindrance than any kind of help." Grace could hardly breathe now. She could see her reflection in his eyes. See what he saw. A pathetic sniveling woman without an ounce of pride in her.

"Please," she tried again in a barely audible, tremulous voice. "Now get out," he said softly. Grace watched him sit back in his seat. She looked at the open door. It reminded her of the open door in Norman's suite. It seemed as if life was giving her another chance to walk away. Another chance to pretend that none of this ever happened.

Grace shut the door. She did not want that chance. And returned his deep gaze now. "Turn left," she said. If it's a direction he wanted, she'd be more than happy to give him one.

* * *

"Wanna hear the headlines, Scott?"

Scott gunned the ignition. "No."

"Mars escaped."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wow."

"I know, right? It's everyone's asses on the line. I suggest that we get back to the station after we find something and brief Lieutenant Blake about it. It should look like something worthwhile's being done in the investigation."

"My sympathies, kid. What with the FBI involved, this doesn't make the situation any better." He reversed the car into the street and began driving.

"There's just Norman from the FBI. He seems to be up to his own thing. It doesn't matter. He isn't one of those arrogant S.O.B.s we used to get sent earlier."

Kathy saw the smile on his face. "Norman, huh? First name basis and everything?"

"Not you too, Scott…"

"I'm not judging. Just giving it a month."

"He's not that kind of a guy. Maybe gay, I don't know. Had his tense moments with Blake."

"If you mean sexually, then I'll have you know that Blake's as straight as they come. Why, he and Sarah…" And at that Scott bit his tongue. Kathy nearly bounced in her seat.

"Sarah? That's the girl from his wallet?"

"Did you get the phone-tapping device?" He could see her smile from the corner of his eye. Oh, she'd get the story out of him sooner or later.

"I did."

They sat in silence for a while. Then: "Tell me about _Sarah_." Scott kept his eyes peeled for signboards. "Tell me about _Norman_." Kathy clicked her tongue. "Lay-ter, Mr. Shelby. I've a feeling we're getting close to the guy's place."

"We are."

It took a little longer than they expected, but Scott managed to find the neighborhood and park a few houses away from Virgil Minelli's. "Get crackin', Conley."

"Yes, sir." Kathy pulled out the device and located a TNI box a few meters down and well out of sight. Scott gave her a thumbs up and entered Minelli's gate. He rang the bell. Minelli opened the door. He scored high on the scraggly and shady front. _You look awful_, Scott wanted to say to him. Instead, he flashed his police badge.

The one he kept with himself, while the police department assumed they had the real thing. "Lieutenant Scott Shelby, Met police." Minelli's smile made him look worse. Some people just had 'sinister' written all over them. "How may I help you, Lieutenant?"

"We've got reason to believe that you rented your car out to a murder suspect late afternoon, yesterday."

"Well, I've got no reason to believe that, Lieutenant. I don't rent cars to killers." As a mild gesture of good will, he stepped aside to let Scott enter the house.

"So you wouldn't mind me going through your records, would you?"

"Sure. Which car are you looking for?"

'CHZ 1208."

"Let's have a look."

Kathy stood in the rain, feeling like a rookie all over again. She had just dismantled Minelli's Telephone Network Interface box and examined the RJ-11 wires inside. Each wire represented a phone line in the house. Kathy pulled one of them out and plugged in the device. _Let's roll, baby doll._

* * *

Lieutenant Carter Blake was angry. Its manifestation was never a pleasant sight or sound. Eyewitness accounts on what he did in those moods were too incredible to be true. But all and sundry acknowledged that his anger kept the streets clean. And that's what kept him alive. And employed.

However, despite being a veteran cop working on the field for 25 years, he had to cope with an escaped 'killer' and a thieving hooker in one day. Patrol cars had been dispatched for the former. Blake would take personal pleasure in dealing with the latter. For free.

He had pulled a file on her at the station. She had been arrested three years ago for soliciting sex to business executives in a hotel bar. There were a few other women too, but Blake obviously did not bother about them.

Within no time he was on the road, driving, gritting his teeth and swearing to use physical force, if necessary, to get the clues. He showed little regard for the traffic signals and check points on the way.

He parked outside the gate. There was no one to object. No one probably would, to a police car. Blake stormed into the building. There was a man reading a newspaper behind a glass panel. Seemingly a harmless receptionist to the untrained eye, but otherwise a shrewd informer to every resident about police presence.

Blake was convinced that there wasn't an honest man living in that sleazy pile of brick. He strode towards the man. "Lauren Winter," he said through the glass. "Sorry pal. No one here by that name."

He never saw Blake's hand making a grab for his collar through the opening in the glass. The receptionist had been sitting in his chair one moment, then forcibly rammed against the pane the next. "Lauren Winter," Blake repeated.

"I - I…"

The Lieutenant tightened his grip on the man's collar and pushed him away, only to pull him towards the glass with renewed vigor. There were cracks in the window pane now.

"Lauren Winter."

"Thi - third floor, last door in the corridor to the left."

Blake let go of him and the man fell to the ground on the other end of the table. There was a rickety old elevator, but Blake took the stairs. The reasons were more psychological than safety-related. He had mild claustrophobia, a fact he concealed reasonably well.

Ironically, the interrogation room was not his most favorite place in the department, though the task he undertook inside it was with great relish. The closer the walls felt around him, the harder he would plow the lowlife handcuffed to the table.

It took him a minute to reach the third floor. He frowned because it wasn't his personal best. A scream moved his gaze away from his watch. It came from the last door at the end of the corridor. _I swear to God, if she's humping someone right now…_

He knocked at the door. And then he wondered why. The screaming had intensified inside and Blake knew it wasn't an orgasm-induced one. He had meant to kick the door open. Instead, it flew right out of its hinges. The crashing sound distracted a tattooed bald man who was in the process of ripping her shirt off. Blake pounced on him before he could even roll off her.

Troy had not anticipated the blitzkrieg and had passed out before the Lieutenant was done punching, smashing, kicking and stamping all over him. "Just taking out the trash," he said casually to Lauren as he dragged his undeserving opponent out of the door frame. She watched with fearful eyes as he trooped in, dusting both hands.

"Broken his arm. He won't be able to do much with the other."

Blake came to the foot of the bed. "Where are the origami figures?" Lauren slumped helplessly against the pillows. "I'll… I'll get them." She gingerly shifted to the edge of the bed. Blake knew _exactly _what she would do next. So when Lauren Winter tried to break into a run, the move had already been anticipated by the experienced street cop.

His powerful arms wrapped around her waist as he dragged her back to the bed. Lauren clawed at him like a wildcat, trying desperately to sink her teeth into his arm. He threw her down on the mattress and ensured that she remained so by climbing on top. "Where are the origami figures?"

Lauren attempted a weak head-butt which Blake easily dodged. "Where'd you keep them?" he grunted.

"You wouldn't find them even if you ransacked the house."

Blake mistrustfully eyed her disorderly clothing. "You're… carrying them on you?" She clenched her jaw. "Mmhmm." He dipped his head lower to hers. "I could strip-search you right now if I wanted to." She raised her head closer to his.

"Why don't you?" she spat. "Why don't you, huh? You're no better than that bastard who thinks he owns me!" Blake pinned her arms above her head, holding both her wrists with one hand. The other he shoved into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief.

"That's a matter of opinion," he said as he stuffed it into her mouth. Lauren Winter had called his bluff, he grudgingly admitted to himself. There was no way he was going to remove her clothes. In all his years of service and even longer in his existence, he had never raised his hand on a woman. Mild force, if necessary, but never anything physically or mentally damaging.

It probably had something to do with the time he was six and had watched his father cane his mother's ass. And his too, when he stuck up for her. Blake flipped Lauren onto her stomach, ignoring her muffled cries. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and clasped her hands together.

"Remember…it didn't have to be this way," he said to her. Blake got off the bed, pulled her by the ankles to the edge. Then, he lifted her up and turned her around. And quite easily swung her up on his shoulder. Just like a shepherd carrying a truant lamb. She seemed to be cursing him while flailing her legs in the air. Blake smacked her buttocks. Hard.

"Be still."

Lauren complied with a whine. Stone-faced, the Lieutenant walked out of the door, or what was left of it. Every occupant in the building pressed itself against the wall as he marched down the corridor and stairs. The receptionist hid under the table, peering from the edge as he passed by.

Blake dumped her into the backseat of the police car. He sat in the driver's seat, which Lauren kicked from behind. The throaty cries emanating from her gagged mouth sounded like "Son of a bitch."

Blake smiled as he got the car started.

_That I am._

* * *

Ethan sat with his back to the wall, surveying the mess he had just created. Room no. 201 looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Madison would not be too happy to learn that Ethan had uprooted the place in a wild search for his cell phone.

The mysterious woman had obviously hidden it well. Then there was the question of finding the origami figures. It all felt worse than a punishment. He did not know what to do or where to look anymore. The press must have gone ballistic over his escape. His thoughts went back to Grace. On what she must think of the whole incident. Looking back, he should have reached out to her when she needed him.

He wondered if she believed all the reports. Believed that he was a neurotic father who had trapped his son under a grate. And escaped to ensure he stayed there. She probably hated him.

There was a scratching sound on the door outside. Ethan slowly got up. He pressed himself against the wall next to the door. It opened and Madison stole in. She was a little startled to see him standing right behind her. He shut the door and they breathed easy.

Madison pulled out one of her sneakers and emptied it for the key. She unlocked her closet. "Here you go." She handed over the origami figures and his cell phone. After a moment's hesitation, she mentioned the memory card. "There's something for you in there."

"I know."

He slid down the wall to the floor. Madison knelt beside him. "I'd found these origami figures in your room." Ethan snapped up. "What were you doing in my room?" Madison put a finger to her lips. He piped down slightly.

"I saw you last night in the motel. I recognized you from the evening reports. I wanted to know why you were here, so I followed you to the café."

"And everywhere else too, it seems."

Madison bent closer to him. "I don't think you're the killer, Ethan. You would've kept a low profile if you were and not gone on a rampage like last night." She tapped the phone with her finger. "I saw the video in the memory card with a word puzzle." She paused for effect. "Someone's playing a game with you, Ethan. A very sick game. You're just a pawn in it, not the mastermind."

Ethan unfurled the second origami figure. "All I know is that I need to head for a trial. I have to save my son."

"And all I ask is for you to trust me."

She wrote her address with a ball pen on a piece of paper and gave it to him. "What's this?" Ethan asked.

"My home address. This motel isn't safe for you anymore. But you can lie low at my apartment."

Ethan stood up, not quite sure of how to thank her. "Why are you doing this for me?"

Madison nodded at the origami figures he was holding.

"Because it's the right thing to do."

She opened the door and peeped out. "Hurry down the fire escape before Cody gets back. I'd left my coffee session mid-way to check on you."

Ethan swung himself down the ladder. "Be careful," Madison whispered. The rungs were quite slippery. Somehow, he managed to hit the ground. He did not look up now, keeping his head low and to the deserted alleys. He spotted a bicycle at the entrance of the motel.

The owner was probably talking to the receptionist inside. He grasped the handle bars, constantly looking over his shoulder till he was out of sight. Then, he broke into a run and leapt onto the bicycle.

He peddled past the grey buildings, through the traffic and in dark lanes to avoid the checkpoints.

A motorcycle would have been too noisy. A car, far too conspicuous. The present mode of transportation worked out just fine. It kept him hidden. In plain sight.

* * *

Scott pored over the reams of paper Minelli held out to him. All records of where the car had been driven. And by whom. Of course, there was nothing to guarantee the use of real names. "Anything else?" Minelli asked, with a self-righteousness that demanded a bullet to his head.

"No, that's it." He shuffled the papers in a neat order and headed out the door. "Thank you for your co-operation, Mr. Minelli. All we have to do is compare this data with all the leads in hand and we'll have the killer."

The man looked a tad more serious now. "Glad I could help."

"However, Mr. Minelli, if we find that you knowingly shielded the identity of the man we're looking for, _you're _looking at a 'lifer'."

Minelli did not show any trace of fear or guilt so far.

_The man's good, _Scott found himself acknowledging.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Lieutenant," the man said.

Scott flashed him a smile he reserved for people he considered fools. "Thanks again," he said and left. He kept the papers in the glove compartment of his car and went down the road.

Kathy was bent into an ear-phone. Scott huddled closer to her, placing his own ear to the device. "He better make the call," she muttered, "this better be worth it."

"He will. It will."

And Virgil Minelli did, to Kathy's relief and Scott's reassurance.

"Paco, there's been some trouble."

"What happened? I'm busy here."

"When you wanted to rent out a car to one of your cronies, you'd promised he'd be discreet about it."

"Yeah, I did."

"Well, what do you know? A cop shows up at my doorstep. He seemed on to something. I don't know what shit your man's been up to, but if he puts my business under the scanner, I ain't giving you anymore of it."

"Hey, hey, don't do that, man! I'll work it out. I'll call him to my office in the evening. It'll be fine."

"It better be. Or your Blue Lagoon shitheads aren't getting anymore rides from me!"

Scott disconnected the device. "Paco's unofficial office. The trade's worst kept secret. The Blue Lagoon."

Kathy smiled. "Looks like we have something to report to Lieutenant Blake, after all."

* * *

The locality seemed dark and dreary. More so than the rest of the city. The grey buildings seemed like silent witnesses to a deathly secret. The trees bent low, as if to see who went past. Norman did not quite associate a woman like Grace Garner to live in these surroundings. "This is it," she said and Norman promptly applied the brakes. _Here? She lives here?_

"The building across?" he asked, unconvinced of the standard befitting her. Grace shook her head and pointed out of her window. "The graveyard there." She turned to him. "Come with me. I promise I won't take too much of your time."

Norman reluctantly stepped out. The only motivation he found in following her was to retrieve his jacket. He was always uncomfortable in cemeteries. It was a gloomy reminder of death and mourning. And his own mortality, which had been in a fragile state lately.

Grace stopped in front of a tombstone. Norman stopped with her. "Why are we here?" he asked in a voice too inadvertently loud in such a setting. Almost disrespectful too.

"Ms. Garner?" he now said in a low voice. She beckoned him to come closer. He did until they were barely inches apart. "Look there," she said in a more hushed voice than his had been. Norman read the tombstone.

_Jason Mars. April 20, 1999 – June 1, 2009. A loving son and a wonderful brother._

"Do you know how soon he was taken away from me?" Norman shook his head. "Instantly." She weakly snapped her fingers. "Like that."

"Do you know why?" Grace looked deep into his eyes. "Do you know why, Agent Jayden?"

"No," he said, for lack of anything better.

She smiled bitterly. "Nor do I," she shrugged, "apparently it's the will of God." The tears came faster now. Grace could not wipe them all away. Norman suppressed the distinct urge to do so.

"Nothing," she continued, "changes the fact that I watched my son _die. _Ethan wasn't there when I buried him. He'll never know what it's like to do things alone. To reconcile to a loss you cannot possibly get past. To be strong for the child you still had. To grieve privately, but give him hope. Ethan did not do any of that."

Norman was still looking at the gravestone. At the starkness with which 'Jason Mars' was carved into the lifeless concrete. There were eight other graves across the city. A lot like this one. Boys around the same age, taken away from their parents. For no reason. Just because a mentally ill bastard wanted to play God.

"I would die… if anything happened to Shaun." She shook at her own words. Norman had nothing to say to her and he hated himself for it. People died, period. The age and time were not in anybody's hands. Or so he had steeled himself to believe after he joined the Bureau.

He had always tried to limit himself to the facts of every case. Not delve into the humane aspect. It was a beginner's mistake. And it weakened judgment. Like right now. When he saw her – a sorrowful woman, standing over the grave of someone she had loved. Just like his own mother had, years ago. With that defeated stance, the folded hands, and the eyes of bereavement.

He went closer to her. Till her shoulder pressed against his chest. "Grace… " She went still. More than she was. It sounded so different… her name from his mouth.

"Grace… look at me."

She did. He brought a hand to her face. Just the fingertips which lightly caressed the edge of a teary eye. "Don't put yourself through this. Not again." A gleaming tear slipped out. His thumb blocked its path.

"I don't want to." She took his hand in both of hers. "Which is why I _need _to go looking for him. I'll be damned if I am going to sit on my couch and hear about Shaun in the evening news. Because then... I don't deserve to find him alive."

Norman gripped her shoulder with his free hand. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that again." She stiffened at his touch. He let her go. Despite that, Grace did not step away. "I need to do this."

He nodded his head and looked away. She held him by his shoulders. "Norman, please…"

"It's too dangerous, Grace, far too dangerous. I can't be responsible for your life and- "

"Then let's be responsible for each other's! That's what partners do, isn't it? I – I have my uses and you won't have to hear a word from me. It's just a matter of three days! And I, of all people, wouldn't impede the investigation. This means more to me than some bureaucratic probe."

Her hands met at his chest. "Please give this another chance…"

Norman sighed. He slipped his hands into hers and pulled them apart. "You don't get out of the car. And if you hear a sound, you hide in the backseat."

Grace smiled through her tears. "Thank you…" She looked like she would've trapped him in a tight embrace. "Thank you, thank you…" She eventually didn't and Norman wasn't sure if he was disappointed. He probably wasn't.

"Tell me, Grace," he asked on their way back to the car, "where does one go for some silence to do a little research about tattoo parlors?"

"Well… my place isn't far from here. I've got a computer in my bedroom so - "

"Oh, we won't be needing the computer."

She looked a little surprised. "The yellow pages would be rather time-consuming."

Norman gave her an understanding smile. "Won't be needing that either."

He had to tell her about the ARI. The agent did not have any intention of frightening her if she walked in on him whirling his arms, wearing a pair of glasses.

"What you will be needing, Norman, is an ice pack."

He smiled again.

"As long as you're not charging, doc… "

* * *

**Author's note: **I'm either experiencing a dry spell in writing with this chapter, or my lucky streak is over. I'll leave that for you to decide. But if you still felt satisfied by the end of this one, I'll be very happy.

**Pointless trivia: **The Jayden-Grace confrontation and graveyard scene were written 6 months ago. I improvised a lot of portions, rewrote other bits. It's a relief to finally upload it all online.

I love you all, my magnificent reviewers. Thank you – Betty Royale for teaching me about the page breaks, mythstoorfoot for the typo alerts, Greased Lightning, Press X to Allie, Jim Slade, Honky Tonk Man ('humdinger' is an awesome word), for the meaningful reviews. And to Urban Cowboy, for a priceless suggestion.

Here's to Witchy Bee for telling me that I ought to organize the dialogue more neatly. Thank you, girl!

And most importantly, to Chyrstis… for being there. Every damn time. :)

All of you kept me going. For a WHOLE year. For eleven chapters.

Life seemed to come a full circle when I wrote down the first scene for this chapter on 10th May. The same date I'd begun chapter one, last year.


	12. The Replacement

Previously on The Hell Within:

1. Norman Jayden and Grace Garner find the man from the Café in Ethan's first trial. The only thing he registers about the killer is that he had a tattoo.

2. Lauren Winter tries to get away with some crucial evidence. Carter Blake remains equally determined to get it back.

3. Scott Shelby and Kathy Conley trace the killer's car to Virgil Minelli. Incidentally, he works for Paco Mendes.

4. Madison Paige gives back the origami trials to Ethan Mars, along with a generous offer (_"This motel isn't safe for you anymore. But you can lie low in my apartment"_).

* * *

"_There are no keys to hell… The gates are open to all" – _Albanian proverb.

* * *

"_No please," the man begged pathetically. Detective Carter Blake had the gun aimed for his head. His hand was clammy from the sweat and grime. That explained the damp odor of the salinity, coupled with the strong stench of gun metal._

"_Look at you," Blake sneered. "Look at yourself now…"_

_The man folded his hands. "I'll do anything…"_

"_Oh, you can't." Blake laughed bitterly. "You can't bring back the dead."_

_The man curled up in a corner, as terrified as a child. Or better yet, a trapped animal._

"_There must be something I can- " he ventured to say._

_Blake pulled the trigger. There was a 'crack' in the air. The bullet tore past the delicate layer of skin and smashed into his cranium. The bloody orifice and the fading light in his eyes looked like a job well done. A clean head-shot._

"_It's over," Blake said. _

"_If that's what you think, Carter…" Scott Shelby rose from the shadows._

"_I have nothing to lose anymore, Scott…" _

_Blake leaned against the wall._

"_Do you need a moment?" Scott asked._

"_Yes… yes I do, Detective…"_

_Scott nodded. "I'll see you outside in the car. None of this ever happened for me."_

_Blake sank to the floor, his head between his knees. Scott closed the door behind him as he left._

* * *

"Lieutenant Mr. Shelby?"

Scott stirred a little."Yes, dear?"

"Do you always daydream when you're not behind the wheel?"

He smiled at Kathy. "All the time."

"You realize we've been parked outside the P.D. for a few minutes now?"

Scott looked out. "Have we?"

"Yup."

Kathy led him into the P.D. Scott smiled genially at anyone who looked at him. He felt at home again, even if the faces were new. He had missed the place, the chaos and the locker room banter. It was great to be back. Even more so, when he spotted an old timer.

"Charlene!"

The woman looked up, first annoyed and then surprised at the unexpected visitor.

"Mr. Shelby! I almost didn't recognize you!"

"And you're still the same, my dear. Consistently old."

"I can't say the same for you, Mr. Shelby. Your age and body graph seem to have surged exponentially."

Scott leaned his massive frame against her desk. "Do you know how sexy I find a woman with retorts?"

Kathy cut in. "Are you done, Scott?"

"No, not really."

She ignored him. "Charlene, where's Lieutenant Blake?"

"I saw him leave. I don't know where he's gone."

"That's alright. We'll wait it out, won't we, Conley?"

"Sure."

She held his arm and led him away. "See you later, beautiful," Scott winked to Charlene. She got down to work, though even as she did, Scott could see her smiling. "Which one's Carter's workstation?" he asked Kathy.

"That one over there."

Scott pulled the chair and sat on it. He had anticipated the customary creak that never came. The contraption had either been very well-oiled or accustomed to having heavier sitters plonk themselves into it.

"I'll just get you a coffee," Kathy said. Scott watched her leave and a young man approach him.

"Ash!"

"It's been a long time, Lieutenant!"

They shared a hearty handshake.

"What brings you here, sir?" he asked.

"Been playing assistant to Detective Conley."

Ash raised an eyebrow. "You mean 'advisor'?"

"No, assistant."

Ash laughed. "Assistant to a girl who'd barfed near a corpse during postmortem?"

"No. Assistant to a girl who shot the bastard responsible a week later."

Kathy appeared with a cup for Scott. "Here you go. The perfect antidote to nostalgia."

Scott took a sip.

Ash and Kathy waited for a reaction. There was none. Scott smacked his lips and took another sip. "What?" he asked, genuinely puzzled when the duo continued to stare.

"Nothing," they chorused.

"So, Ash," Scott said as he gulped down the cup (Kathy shuddered), "how's the department been coping with the killer's case?"

"We're doing our best, Lieutenant."

The doors to the P.D. were suddenly kicked on. They flew open and collided against the walls, nearly damaging the glass panes framed inside. All heads turned to the abrupt intrusion. Lieutenant Carter Blake walked past the cubicles, stone-faced and lugging a hand-cuffed woman on his shoulder. A woman who'd forgotten to wear a pair of pants.

Her eyes were closed, more out of shame than the exhaustion of a futile struggle. Scott and Kathy watched, frozen in their actions. Ash got a glimpse of Lauren's face and dreaded to think of what must have transpired. "Oh hell…" he muttered.

Kathy caught Blake's eye. "Conley! Follow me!" He did not notice Scott as he walked past. Kathy ran to keep up with him. "Let me!" she urgently interjected when Blake attempted to kick down the door to the interrogation room. She helpfully opened it for him, holding the P.D. infrastructure in much higher regard.

Blake dumped Lauren on the table. "Strip her. Shirt and skin if you have to. But get those _five_ origami figures out of there."

"Origami figures?"

"I'll be waiting outside."

He slammed the door on his way out. Lauren Winter had royally pissed him off. She struggled with the cuffs and tried to force the handkerchief out of her mouth. Kathy did her the favor. Lauren gasped for breath.

"I'll give them to you. Just, please, get these off me." She rattled the cuffs that were beginning to burn into her wrists. Kathy pulled out her spare key. A moment of eager expectancy followed as she struggled with the cuffs. Then, they slipped open.

"Oh, thank God," Lauren sighed and flexed her wrists. She stretched her fingers before reaching under the hemline of her neck. Lauren had expected Kathy to look away, but she stared on. Blake's orders were seemingly followed to the 'T' within the department.

She dug them out. "Here you go." Kathy counted them. There were five. The door to the room opened. "You done?" Blake asked from the outside.

"Yes."

"Give them here."

Kathy handed them over. Blake glowered at Lauren.

"Get the hell out."

Lauren surprisingly, glared back. "You'll see me again, Lieutenant." She slid off the desk and stormed out.

Kathy waited for the silence to return. "Lieutenant?"

"Tell me."

He was opening the origami figures and reading the addresses.

"I thought I must update you on a few leads…"

"As long as they aren't dead-ends, Conley."

"They don't seem to be, Lieutenant."

Blake began to walk the door. Kathy followed.

"We don't have time, Conley. I trust you to do the right thing. Do what you have to."

"I have reason to believe that Paco Mendes is involved."

"Then nail the sucker."

She fell back when Blake approached his workstation. Scott Shelby sat on his chair alone now, for Ash seemed to have returned to his more pressing duties. He stopped short. So did Scott. So did Kathy.

"Hullo, Carter."

"Scott," Blake simply acknowledged.

"Long time."

"What brings you here?"

"Just dropped in to see the team… new team rather."

"There couldn't have been a worse time, Scott." Blake was incredibly dead-pan.

"You're right." Scott rose from the chair. "I should… get going…"

"Let me know if you ever need anything. Door's always open here."

"I will, Carter."

Kathy was relieved that Scott did not mention the case in front of Blake. There was nothing worse than a one upmanship during a crucial investigation between a cop and a P.I.

Blake followed Scott's gaze to Kathy. "All set?" he asked her.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"You're dealing with Paco Mendes. Want me to send someone with you?"

"I'll be alright, Lieutenant."

She exchanged glances with Scott. They walked out later together, but Blake did not notice.

"His concern for me is most heartwarming," she smirked.

"It's well-earned too. The department wouldn't wanna lose you, Conley."

"I don't really see an outward appreciation for the same."

Scott laughed. "No one compliments you to your face in the world of grown-ups. But Carter does have a Father Hen streak in him. You'd know it if you were his partner."

Kathy turned around. Inside, through the grainy glass of the P.D. entrance, she saw Lieutenant Carter Blake purposefully shrug on a trench coat.

_Man on a mission_, Kathy observed. _Always_.

* * *

Norman parked outside the house. Grace opened the door.

"Nice place," he said as he ducked out of the rain.

"Thank you."

Norman rubbed his hands together and stood there uncertainly. The chill had reached his spine. "Bedroom's upstairs. Second door to the right," Grace helpfully added.

"Thanks."

It was a rather nice room. There was a queen-sized bed, obviously meant for one person, a comfortable sink-in carpet, pastel walls and wooden furniture. Grace seemed to like books, judging by the stack on her shelves. A bibliophile always appealed to his sensibilities.

"Your towel," Grace said softly from behind him. Norman turned and took it from her. "Can't say I didn't need it," he said and forced himself to smile. Grace was so disturbed and mechanical. He couldn't think of anything to say to make her feel better. She extended a bathing robe towards him.

"You'll need this too," she said, "you can put your clothes to dry on the heating rods."

Norman wasn't sure if he wanted to be too thankful for that. He sized up the robe, wondering if his comparatively broader frame would fit into what would easily wrap around her lithe body. Not that he had noticed… much. That too was a highly unintentional and unfortunate occurrence.

"Let's get that face looked at," Grace said and it had a distracting effect.

"No…" Norman said and motioned slightly to her shirt. "You should change first."

She looked down and seemed to suddenly register the presence of blood stains. "Oh, right…" She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. "You can use this room," she said before leaving, "don't hesitate to ask for anything." And then she was gone.

Norman did not mind the idea of a quick shower. Judging by the sound of a door closing through the wall and the steady stream of water, neither did Grace. Norman entered his allotted bathroom and bent closer to check out the shower knobs. There were too many of them.

He was almost tempted to call out to Grace for assistance, though he knew that her hospitality had boundaries. The shower would have to wait.

_Until then…_

He retrieved the ARI from his shirt pocket. There was work to be done.

* * *

Ethan Mars had reached the Rosario Club. Or rather the dilapidation that was called so. He stood at the entrance and waited. There would be a phone call soon. And there was… his phone buzzed on cue. He picked it up.

"_You have arrived for your next trial," _thetinny voice at the other end said. _"Open the door in front of the gate. You will find an iron ball."_ He did. _"Strap it to your ankle." _He did that the line went dead.

Ethan stared at the handset, and then looked around. This could not be it. There was obviously more to the trial. He limply dragged himself, with the ball in tow, down the dank corridor till he found a silhouetted door framed by light from the other side.

The door opened to an outdoor pool. He came closer to the edge and found a note taped to it. _Jump_, it said. _Your reward is at the bottom. _Ethan peered beneath the surface. The bottom was a menacing shade of dark green.

_Somewhere down there…_

He was standing on the shallow edge. Ethan put the phone down. He took a deep breath and dropped off the edge. The water parted readily to accommodate the body before engulfing it from all around. The ball weighed him down even though he was at the shallow end. He opened his eyes when the stinging and bubbles subsided.

His head broke the surface and he gasped for breath. He blinked rapidly and waited for the water to still. Ethan craned his neck to see the grey sky above. That, and then the murky depths of the pool. He could see balloons taped to the bottom. _Red _balloons.

Ethan felt sick. And then scared. So very scared. He would have clambered out of the pool if it wasn't for the damned metallic death-trap strapped to his ankle. He did struggle briefly but gave up as quickly. He had no choice now. He was too far gone to turn back.

Ethan breathed deeply before plunging in again.

He dragged himself to the nearest red balloon. The attempt itself proved heavy for his lungs. And that was when he realized the purpose of the balloons. For air. With shaking hands he peeled off the tape and quickly gulped the spurt of air that shot down his throat.

He let the deflated balloon slip away. The air was barely enough. The next balloon was a considerable distance away. And the reward was still at the far end…

* * *

Madison Paige was barely listening to Cody. She had an ear trained to the television set. Ethan Mars had successfully grabbed headlines for his unbelievable escape.

_You guys didn't see the best one yet…_

So did the force for their "alleged incompetence", oft quoted (in derision) after Captain Perry's usage of the phrase during a weak defense in his press conference.

_For shame, gentlemen…_

"So I've named her 'Judge Judy'…"

Madison snapped to attention.

"You have a cat named 'Judge Judy'?"

Cody gave a pig-like snort in response. It was too much for Madison. She laughed although she had tried very hard not to.

"… You know something, Madison?"

Cody was immediately dead-pan. It turned Madison's laughter to a giggle.

"Yeah?"

"I don't actually have a cat…"

She straightened.

"Oh."

"But y'know… you look very pretty when you laugh."

"Uh-huh."

_Help me! Save me somebody from this mad man!_

"Sooo… I gotcha!"

Madison gave him a tightly clenched smile. "Mmhmm."

"But what would you do if I got a cat?"

She tried hard not to look like her eyes were glazing over.

"I… don't know…"

Her fingers were fast at work. _"Any news on the street?" _she forwarded to her main sources. She got a prompt reply within minutes. _"Yes."_

Madison was so relieved.

_There is a God!_

Hopefully, one that kept journalists out of strange motels and away from cat-obsessed receptionists.

* * *

Her mind was clear and blank. Grace knew that the more she thought about everything, the more likely she was to end up in a mental asylum with a slit wrist. She shed her clothing bit by bit and examined herself in the mirror. There wasn't blood _on _her. Just on her clothes.

How was it possible? How could there _not_ be blood on her? Why did she feel its sickening dampness then?

She stepped into the shower.

The warm stream of water rolled down her body in a consistent torrent and that was when Grace realized how dirty she felt. Trembling fingers wrapped themselves around a bar of soap. She scrubbed herself vigorously but the lather did not seem to be enough.

With a fiery determination, she gritted her teeth and tried to wring her hands clean, like Lady Macbeth. The bar from her hands and Grace felt a sudden, almost delectable rush of anger. She picked it up and flung it across the bathroom, to derive the satisfaction of having thrown it far away from her.

That was the beauty of tangible objects. They could be flung away, destroyed at will. It wasn't something like pain and memories that lingered, like ghosts from the past.

Panting heavily now, she reached for the bottle of scented body shampoo and emptied it on herself. Her hands worked faster till the foam on the body thickened. Then the bottle met the same fate as the soap, except that the glass shattered on impact.

She drove her fists into the wall, only to hurt herself while it stood tall, resistant and unyielding. Just like her circumstances. The ground felt cold underneath her feet, but a welcome support when she sank down to her knees.

Hot tears trickled out of her eyes, followed by unrestrained sobbing. She sat still under the shower, hugging her knees. Then, her body convulsed uncontrollably and a long suppressed howl of agony escaped her lips. The miniature curtain of water fell around her, protecting her from the sounds of the more lethal downpour outside.

* * *

Norman heard the sound of glass shatter. And then the howl. His hearing was consciously more sensitive when he was inside the ARI. He pulled them off and made a dash for the next room. There was nothing except for the sound of water, in and out of the house.

He knocked at the door.

"Grace?"

There was no response.

"Grace?"

Nothing.

He cautiously opened the door and nearly stepped on the glass pieces inside. "Grace… say something." There was a sob that came through the shower. Norman leaned against the sink, waiting. "Don't make me come in there," he said to the curtain.

"I'm alright," the voice inside said. It barely sounded like hers.

"What happened?" he asked.

"The bottle slipped from my hand."

Norman surveyed the mess. _Halfway across the bathroom? With the soap? _He did not press further, though.

"Anything I can do?" he offered, inwardly praying it did not sound suggestive.

"Just pass me a robe, if you can find one."

Norman threw her the one he had no intention of using. "Thank you," she said. The curtain was slowly drawn aside. Grace unsteadily stepped out. Norman came forward to support her. "I'm fine, really," she protested, but leaned into him nevertheless.

"Mind the glass pieces," he warned and helped her step over them.

"Why haven't you changed yet, Norman?"

She looked down and then at him. "Did you just give me your robe?"

"I did."

"Hold on, then."

Grace opened her wardrobe. "Don't worry," she assured him, "my home-wear is mostly over-sized and unisex." She pulled out a decent –looking shirt and track pants. Norman gave her a resigned nod.

_I can live this down… why not?_

Grace pointed at his door. "Get in, get dry." It sounded like an advertising slogan. Norman took the clothes from her and entered his bathroom. The shower could wait. When he changed and stepped out, he saw Grace sitting next to the bed, on the carpet. She had her back was to the bathroom door and was looking out of the window.

He went and sat next to her. "Do you need to be alone?" he asked, "I can always- "

"No, no." She held him by the wrist. "Stay. I want you to." He took her hand in his.

"I'm right here."

"Thank you."

She squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry about all the things I said to you before," she said.

Norman put his other hand on hers. "I've got a lot of 'taking back' to do, as well." He paused, then added, "Don't we all?"

He looked at her. "You aren't high-pitched at all, you know… I completely take that back."

Grace smiled. "I know."

"It's quite a nice voice," he blundered clumsily, but in a hushed tone. He probably did not mean for her to hear it, but in the silence of the room, sealed from the pitter-patter of raindrops, she did.

She moved away from the bed and sat facing him. Close. She reached for his face. "You're hurt," she whispered. Norman shrugged slightly.

"Not my first time."

Somehow, some part of Grace told her that he wasn't talking about the bruises.

"Let me get you an ice pack."

"No, don't…"

She leaned closer to examine the extent of damage to his face. "Are you sure?"

"Let's stay put just for a few minutes… I haven't done it since I arrived."

Grace tentatively ran her fingertips through his hair. In reassurance. "I'm right here, then. But I must tell you that you look less like an FBI agent and more like the people you're trying to keep off the streets."

"You like this look, don't you?" he grinned and leaned closer against the edge of the bed. The smile faded when her hand dropped to his face. Grace moved closer to him. She held him by the chin and tilted his face towards the left.

Her index finger glided down to the scar on his right cheek. "How did this happen?" she asked and her voice instinctively dropped lower.

"I fell on glass while playing in the park, as a kid. That's the official story."

"What's the unofficial one?"

Norman did not answer. Even that hint of a smile did not reach his eyes now. She traced the scar again with her finger. The nail fitted perfectly into the depth of the incision. As if it was a small knife. And then she understood.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have asked…"

"Perfectly alright."

"I'd seen another one on your rib, too. I don't know… couldn't help but ask…"

He was looking at her. His gaze pierced her again. It was as if he could see right into her soul. Little did she know he felt the same way when she looked at him. "One on the rib was because of broken glass. But that's outta sight, so outta mind."

There was that look again on his face. That particular way she couldn't quite describe. She felt an urgent but reluctant need to get away from him. "Let me get something for your- " She tried to get up.

Norman held her by her wrists and pulled her closer. Oddly with minimum force. "Please…" he breathed to her, though he wasn't sure what for. Its warmth heated her pores. Their foreheads touched. Noses bumped into each other. His eyes seemed a shock of icy blue from so near a distance. Her brown ones looked like melting honey.

She freed a hand from his grip and ran it across his lips. The shape of them. They felt surprisingly soft to touch. She had never noticed the gentle pinkness or how supple they were. Temptingly so.

His heavy breathing ghosted over her skin. So did hers, over his. Her heaving chest was crushed against his. That was when she realized his arms were around her. Her own circled his neck. She nuzzled her nose with his. Slowly. Playfully.

Norman's fingers twined themselves in her hair. Grace closed her eyes and sighed approvingly. He pulled her closer to him. She did not resist.

He pulled her closer still.

Their lips brushed against each other. He wanted to kiss her softly, all over that alluring mouth she seemed so unaware of. He wanted to nudge it apart with his tongue, so that it could mate with hers. Teasingly at first, then with a demanding force. Then possessive. And then fierce.

Instead, it was a brief peck. Hesitant.

Even more so, than a shy couple in a church. He waited for her to take the lead now. Show him that she cared. Let him know that she did. Because Norman Jayden was beginning to adapt to the possibility that he did.

Grace took his face in her hands. She kissed him gently, but with a cruel, unbearable indecision, herself. U_nfair_, a part of him urged from inside. He never got to _feel_ her completely. Or taste her. Have it linger like fine wine.

He kissed her on the cheek and stroked her face. Grace held him close and planted a kiss to the scar on his cheek. She moved to the other cheek and made a moist trail to his earlobe.

They held each other in a tight embrace now, not quite thinking about how they got there.

Norman ran a finger down a tense nerve in the crook of her neck. It was so taut, it was crying out to be soothed. He pressed his lips to the spot. Grace moaned and fisted his hair. His soft brown hair that grazed her fingers. She just had to hold on to them. Had to pull herself against his broad, masculine frame. He was so much stronger than he made people realize.

His arms welcomed her into a tight embrace. A faint "mmm" escaped her lips and Norman delighted in that sound.

"There's- "

Another moan originated from deep within her throat.

"Norman, there's something I need to talk about."

He dragged his lips to her ear. "Anything," he whispered.

"Ethan escaped from prison shortly after you left."

That did it. Those words blew down all that was being built. Like a pack of cards. In the one moment when they seemed to be together, she was still thinking about him.

Norman let his arms drop to his sides.

Damn him and damn her. Why now? His flustered mind tried to regain composure. Was Grace deliberately putting him at ease? So that she could talk to him about this? There was no clear and evident answer.

"The police say Ethan picked the handcuffs with a wire. Now I know he can't. So it must be an insider's job. It's… just been troubling me the whole way home. Someone's either trying to help him… or frame him."

This was impossible. Was her timing so bad? Was it nervousness? Or was her concern for her _ex _-husband more overpowering?

"I don't know," he said, coldly, to his doubts and to hers.

Grace probably sensed it. He wasn't sure if she deliberately changed the topic or if her mind was over-loaded with fears and questions.

"Any progress on the clue you were working on?"

"I was working on it, till I heard the sound from your room…"

"Yeah…"

Grace looked away, embarrassed now at the reference.

"Maybe… you should get back to it, then."

"I really should…"

"Meanwhile, I'll just go and… and look for some ice packs."

"Okay."

He had withdrawn from her. Shut himself up again, in that impenetrable wall of professional frigidity. Grace walked out of the room slowly, but ran down the steps to the kitchen. She leaned her head against the refrigerator and tried to breathe. But it was difficult. It would have been better if they'd spoken about it. Or maybe kissed some more... _real_ kisses.

_No, no, no!_

It was never going to happen… she wouldn't let it. Never again.

Upstairs, Norman Jayden tried to work. He ended up slipping the ARI off his eyes time and again. It was getting difficult to concentrate. It shouldn't have been, since the information was just a finger's tap away. In his detailed conjuring of the killer's tattoo, Linden had mentioned the initials of the tattoo artist at the bottom of the tattoo. It would be good enough to zero in on the right salon.

But he found himself thinking of Grace. Of her tousled hair, her breathing, the pulse that gently rippled through her fingers. At least until he looked at the picture by her bed-side. It was one of her and the boys. Just them, he thought, till he saw that the picture was folded from the side. Curious, he pulled it slowly out of the frame.

He knew it was Ethan standing next to them before he had even unfolded it. Norman put the picture back, folding Ethan away from sight as it had been earlier, in the frame.

He'd always be around in her life. The father to her sons. Grace cared for _him_. Not some deranged agent with a death wish. She bore him because he was trying to look for Shaun. In more law-abiding ways than her former spouse. There was no other reason for them to be together that day. Frankly, they had no business to be.

As far as these three days were concerned… and this he noted with regret… Agent Norman Jayden was only a replacement till Ethan Mars came sauntering back. A more pathetic part of him was okay with it. Grace didn't deserve him. He'd be fighting a losing battle. A selfish one.

It was stupid, so Norman tried to ignore the feeling. He put on the ARI, and plunged headlong in a world which did hold answers when he sought them.

* * *

**Author's note: **Words fail me. I know that there is absolutely nothing I can say or do to make up for the huge time gap in updates. My new semester has been incredibly busy. It's unimaginable. But not a day went by when I wasn't thinking of the fic.

The delay was mainly because I had been sick right after college opened, near comatose for a week thanks to the viral. Then there were drama rehearsals, the main performance, and projects. Thanks to one of them, I've been going through a Citizen Kane phase, and am sorely tempted to do a fanfic on it sometime soon. I also won't be working on this fic until October 22nd. There's just a lot to be done in college.

Watching Heavy Rain videos and Minority Report kept me motivated. Seriously, the film seems to have an odd resemblance to the game. Its dark, it's raining. There's an innocent fugitive being aided by a girl who's barely feminine, there's a federal agent pursuing him and later believing in his innocence, an ex-wife (highly inconsequential character… or is she?), and a son named Shaun who'd drowned. Worth a watch, if you haven't seen it.

I wanna thank all the awesome, loyal folks for reviewing. A humungous 'thank you' to mythstoorfoot, Honky Tonk Man, Greased Lightening, Chyrstis, Urban Cowboy, Jim Slade (I think I'll just have to take writing lessons now, this chapter is the end result of doing stuff on instinct), Soul Searcher (do thank the person who recommended you this fic on my behalf), Curiosity's Principle.

It's only because you write such incisive reviews do I realize how many levels go into writing. Your reviews give me a better insight into... well, writing!. It makes me want to put it greater effort into doing what I do. And I love you all for it. :)

Please read my profile for further acknowledgments.

Please leave a review. All of you. Each one is important for me. (And read with great relish, if I may add). I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It's been a bit of a last-minute thing; has been written in a daze and an exhausted state of mind. I understand that the delay was A LOT which is why I felt inclined to post a brief clue update at the beginning of the chapter.

Before I sign out, folks, I want to recommend watching the "(Fake) Heavy Rain Movie Trailer" on YouTube if you haven't already. It's brilliant. Bloody brilliant, if you would pardon my language (ironic, I know…).

I promise I'll do better next time. I eagerly await crossing the 100 reviews line with this chapter! I survived 12 chapters! Thank you all for continuing to read so far into the fic!


	13. Without a trace

I dedicate this chapter to my grandfather.

Here's to the bravest man I'll ever know. A true soldier in mind and spirit. Mom's hero, my superhero. Get well soon… I love you. :)

… 104 reviews? Wow. $h!t. _Come… come, let me kiss you… _*cackles*

* * *

_I see the sparkling little diamond on your hand_

_It's plain to see that you've already got a man_

_I can see you're not about to fall for any of my lines_

_I see the want to in your eyes_

_Deep in your smile there's a quiet, soft desire_

_Like the embers of a once raging fire_

_You know I could light that fire again,_

_You know it isn't wise_

_I see the want to in your eyes_

- Conway Twitty

* * *

_Carter Blake had never quite forgotten that breezy autumn day fifteen years ago. And it was not because he was a nature worshipper, mesmerized by the poetic beauty of God's creation. He had been jogging down a narrow pathway when he heard a woman shout, "Hey, you! Stop!"_

_Blake looked around. Nobody. _Strange… _he thought._

"_Up here!"_

_He looked up. She was a beautiful young blonde, wearing a red jacket and jeans. "I'm stuck!" she wailed, though she did not have to. It was evident to anyone who looked up to see that she was trapped high above in a few tree branches. The woman was flat on her stomach against a thick one._

"_What the hell were you doing? Parachuting from the skies?"_

"_Helping a cat."_

"_Where's the cat?"_

"_It jumped."_

_Blake rolled up his sleeves and began climbing the tree._

"_Oh… oh, you can climb trees! Oh, thank God!"_

_He effortlessly clambered up the trunk with well coordinated movements till he reached the branch she was resting on._

"_You still there?" the woman asked._

"_Approaching from behind."_

"_I don't think I like the sound of that."_

"_My intentions are strictly honorable."_

"_I meant the sound of the branch."_

_Blake was still for a moment. He heard nothing and slid closer to her. She stiffened. Blake felt hesitant too and hoped that no one from his department would see him._

"_I'm gonna try and pull you up now."_

"_The branch!"_

"_What?"_

"_The branch! The branch!"_

"_Try to - "_

_It snapped like a twig under their weight. The woman screamed and held on to the branch. Blake braced himself for the impact. They went crashing through the foliage till the never ending drop was cushioned by a rose bush. There was a deathly silence except for the chirping of birds. It was a long while before they dared to move again._

"_I could've done this on my own," the woman muttered while pulling herself out of the bush._

"_You're welcome," Blake managed between a few coughs._

_Once out of the bush, they collapsed next to each other. He craned his neck to where she lay._

"_What's your name?" he asked her._

"_Sarah. Sarah Avila."_

_Lieutenant Carter Blake could never have imagined that fifteen years later the name would still mean something to him. Back then, the young detective was more concerned about getting to work on time. He swore during the shave and shower session, to never ever help another woman stuck in a tree. Ever again. He still looked a mess. Resigned, he threw on his uniform and rushed out of the door._

_Scott Shelby reminded him of his disheveled state for the rest of the day. When Blake had staggered into the P.D., he gave a reluctant smile to his partner's keen and probing gaze. "Moral of the story," said Scott, gulping his third cup of coffee (he wasn't a morning person), "always pay the hooker."_

_Blake kept the smile frozen and grabbed himself a cup._

"_What's wrong, Carter? Cat got your tongue?"_

_Blake's lips expanded into a genuine smile now. _

"_No," he chuckled and took a sip, "but I do blame the cat."_

_Scott Shelby understood the reference only later that day, during a long-drawn stakeout._

* * *

"So Sarah Avila's the woman in the wallet?" Kathy asked.

"Touché," said Scott, eyes still on the road.

"Why doesn't Blake talk about her?"

"No one talks about her, Kathy. And you won't either, if you've got a brain or half."

"Am I the last person in the department to hear about this?"

"Not really… one of the few, I'll say."

The traffic light turned red. Scott released the steering wheel and leaned into his seat. They looked straight ahead. Kathy would follow one droplet of rain at a time as it crawled down the windshield. Scott gazed absently at the rows of cars ahead of him.

"What will you ask Paco?" Kathy finally asked.

"About the car. And his employees."

"We don't have a warrant. Or evidence."

"We have a recording of Paco's conversation with Minelli in my wireless."

"It's not exactly ethical evidence, Scott. And you know that!"

"It's still a conversation starter."

The traffic began to budge. Only fractionally, but it was progress, nevertheless. Kathy threw her hands up in exasperation. "Don't they know we have a frickin' child to save?"

"Cool it, Blake Jr."

Kathy gave Scott a look. The Look.

"We'll be there soon," he said, arms crossed and foot applying the pressure on the accelerator, ever so slightly.

* * *

His eyes burned with chlorine. He could almost smell the pool water. Ethan wondered if it had been deliberately thrown in excess for additional sadism. He swung his arms, threw his legs forward, one foot at a time in a frustrating slow motion. Water never seemed a more daunting barrier. Nor did oxygen a more indispensable component.

Ethan could feel some of it at the back of his throat. It was beginning to burn. His nasal passage stung too. And the friction around his ankle was not comforting either. He leaned closer, his leg still strapped to the grey metal. Greedy fingers snatched up another red balloon as he hungrily sucked in more air.

He nearly swallowed the balloon in his desperation and wasted a few precious oxygen bubbles in coughing it out. With his left leg relatively immobile and useless, the pressure shifted to his right leg. The disbalance was infuriating. The time he had left, terrifying.

_This is what hell feels like…_

* * *

Grace walked up the stairs, ice pack in hand. She was nervous now. Nervous about what had happened. About what would if they weren't careful.

She found him, sitting on the floor. He was wearing a pair of shades and waving his arms about. It looked scary, given the situation.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"ARI. Added Reality Interface. Experiment. Long story. Confidential."

She stood at the door, toying briefly with the ice pack.

"So… you're a lab rat?"

He didn't answer. She saw him halt in his movements briefly when she said that. It was difficult to gauge a reaction with his eyes behind the glasses. Grace wondered if she should apologize.

"I've… got your ice pack," she offered as a truce.

He paused again.

"I'm working… right now…"

"Do you want me to… to hold it to your face? It would save us some time."

Maybe she could have framed it better. She was almost certain that the last thing they needed was any kind of physical contact. But she was wrong. At least from Norman's end.

"Alright…" he said, hoping to hell that it didn't sound brazen. It would have been better if they stayed away from each other. Far away. Separate rooms. But he didn't want that. He wondered if she did.

To his relief, she complied with an "Okay," and settled behind him, on the bed. It was distracting. Having her sitting _right _behind him, turning his face gently to press against the ice pack was very, very distracting. His breath caught, and Norman was almost certain that his hands stilled for a visibly longer time. It was something he wanted and did not want at the same time. And it was killing him.

Grace was not a visible constituent of the ARI. She stayed outside, a reminder of the real world, while he sat in his. A world of bright sunlight and rustling leaves. It was so much better. He would have liked to show it to her if he didn't already know what it could do to her. He'd never let that happen.

His hands dismissively struck away clues he had already pored over. They opened a map for geolocalization, instead. With a rapid flick of his wrist, he blew the illustration of the tattoo onto the map. The address said 3819, N Fairhill St, Philadelphia, PA 29120-2710. The salon belonged to a Steve Wyland.

_Getting somewhere… 'somewhere' is good._

Her hand had stopped moving. The prolonged sensation of ice was getting painful. He reached to gently move it away from his nose. There was a piercing silence in the air.

"Norman…"

He felt afraid of what she would say next.

"What's wrong?" he tried to ask. Unfortunately, there was no voice to substantiate the contortion of his lips. It came out as a gasp.

"Your _nose is_ bleeding."

The headache had set in long ago. It was just getting harder to ignore. And his painful, shallow, yet, heavy breathing was a result of withdrawals. Not desire.

"_Norman… can _you hear_ me?"_

She sounded surreal… as if the words were carried on wind. His hand reached his face. It was damp and sticky, with that tinge of rusty iron. He shouldn't have… shouldn't have slipped the ARI off repeatedly. It was fatal… like a diver surfacing too soon for air. Norman felt his body crumbling. A boneless mass.

He pulled the ARI and kept it aside. Impatiently now, he pushed Grace's hand away from his face. Norman clutched to the edge of the bed, struggling to get up. His knees seemed to buckle under the sudden pressure. Grace cautiously rose from the bed, an arm hesitantly mid-way to steady him, if required. "You're in withdrawal," she began, "let me help you."

"You have to leave," he said, in a voice barely audible.

"I'm _not _leaving you!"

He raised his head and Grace saw his eyes burn with a fierceness; like from the night before. His arms found her waist before crushing her body against his.

"Norman!"

"I'm saving you from me."

With a reeling head and a thickening nose bleed, he dragged her off the edge and carried her out of the room. Norman tried to dump her outside the adjacent room, where she bravely latched tighter around his shoulders. He stumbled till they both fell back against the corridor wall.

"Let me go!" he snarled dangerously. His shaking hands tried to pry her fingers loose.

"I won't let you take it!" she shot back.

"Fucking hell… let me!"

Need overtook civility. He grabbed at the cotton belt of her robe. It split open in a forceful tug.

"Hey!"

She caught the robe before it completely slipped down her arms. Grace looked up to see that he was gone. She burst into the room. The water was running in the bathroom. And the door had not been bolted. Grace hesitantly checked his jacket which was drying on the heating rods.

The vial of Triptocaine was inside. She put it back. Grace looked at the wall clock in the room. If Norman was not out in the next few minutes, she was going in.

Inside, crumpled against a tiled wall, Agent Norman Jayden grappled with the pain and the unbearably cold shower, which sent merciless jolts down his weakening spine. The torment was entirely self-inflicted. He found his release a few moments later, when he slipped into a state of semi-consciousness…

It was all a good thing, he felt. For it was an essential distraction. From the mind-numbing headache. From the bleeding nose. From Grace. From everything.

* * *

Carter Blake never liked the rains. Then again, he never liked any season. Crime sucked the joy out of every single one. What Carter Blake did like was driving over puddles. The muckier, the better. Also, arguably, the best punishment for jaywalking.

On his drive to the City Garage, he was proud and furious over having soiled the attire of nine citizens on the way. It was a more entertaining substitute for running over them. Smeared apparels were inconsequential to corpses.

Blake knew he wouldn't be long. The maximum time he had ever spent during his personally conducted interrogations for the case, was at the shrink's. And that was mostly because Pansy Jayden did not want to get his sanitized paws dirty.

He entered the garage after double-parking next to a Toyota Tourer. It seemed familiar… belonging to someone. Someone he didn't like…

Blake found a lone mechanic working furiously over a car engine. He cleared his throat. A fair warning.

"Excuse me."

No answer.

"Excuse me!"

The man's lack of response pissed him off. Royally. He approached from behind only to see him swaying his head to some crap ass music. He could almost hear the lyrics himself. Losing patience, he knocked the support off the bonnet, and had it collapse over the unsuspecting man's head.

"Holy shit!"

He half-lifted the thing off him and just about managed to get his head out of there. The mechanic (nametag: Barry) noticed Blake, although partially due to the disorientation.

"You gotta be careful with the support," Blake said, "they tend to slip."

He flashed his badge. Any resentment or suspicion Barry may have had against Blake for any possible internal bleeding was promptly suppressed.

"What… what can I do you for?"

"What does the name Matthew Bowles mean to you?"

"Funny thing… the reporter here was just asking the same questions…"

"Matthew Bowles. Start talking."

Barry tapped his wrench against his palm. "There was a car kept here under his name. Why?" he asked Blake.

"I find this garage address folded inside an origami figure. Unless you gotta brilliant explanation for how it got there, I see good reason to hold you up for being an accessory to crime."

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down! I know nothing about the origami business! What's goin on?"

"Matthew Bowles disappeared the day his son went missing. I'm guessing he was here."

"Yeah, he did. But only to claim his car."

He began walking towards a glass cubicle at the far end of the garage. Blake followed. Barry opened his register.

"See? Car was brought here a week before Matthew Bowles took it for a spin."

"You mean you keep cars for safekeeping, too?"

"Yeah. For a price."

Blake scowled at him.

"Hey, chief," Barry covered up, "it's totally legit. We just see to it that the cars work fine."

"So if Bowles didn't get the car in, who did?"

"Dunno. Guy was all covered. No names exchanged, just cash."

"What were his instructions to you?"

"He wanted the car to be in ship shape. And not have a scratch on that GPS."

"GPS?"

"Yeah, he was darn particular about that."

Blake pulled the register closer to himself. He dialed Ash's number.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"Give me something on a Ford Mondeo with the number 620-LFR-20."

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a few keyboard taps and mouse clicks.

"Car'd flown off a highway near Paschall's Alley about a week ago. Had smashed a toll booth barricade and police cars while moving on the wrong side of the road. Car crashed a mile later. No occupant was found."

"Where's the car now?"

"5482, Easington Avenue, Southwest Philadelphia."

Blake managed to jot it down.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"The garage is owned by a Jackson 'Mad Jack' Neville. And he doesn't seem friendly."

"Don't worry. Not goin' there to have supper with him."

"Be careful, Lieutenant."

"Didn't know you cared."

Blake pocketed the phone and nodded to Barry. He was just leaving the garage when the Toyota there served a reminder. Some people just had to learn the hard way…

"Is there anyone with you in the garage right now, Barry?"

"No. Why?"

"Whose car is this?"

"Must be the reporter's, sir."

"Did the reporter have a valid ID on her?"

Barry looked nervous again.

"Didn't… didn't ask for it, sir."

"What'd she look like? Dark hair, high cheekbones? White woman?"

"… Yes… ?"

"Get me a pen knife."

"Sir?"

"Now."

He did. Blake turned the pen knife around in his hand. He knelt before one of the tires and after a dramatic pause, slashed it open. The tire hissed loudly. Blake moved on to the next one. Another quick slash followed and the hissing sound intensified. The car visibly tilted towards the deflated side. Blake slashed the other tires too, and carelessly tossed the knife back at Barry. The Toyota Tourer sank closer to the ground. Its license plate number was PA PL8S. Carter Blake never forgot such numbers in a hurry.

Barry watched Blake as he drove off before cursing, shocked at the damage. He found any impairment to a vehicle a most distressing sight. Sadly shaking his head, he walked back to the glass cubicle in the garage. He shut the register and put it back in the drawer.

Then he turned to the door and nearly screamed on seeing Lauren Winter there.

"And here I was, willing to pay for the information you just gave that cop," she said.

The hissing sound brought her attention to the entrance.

"What… what is that sound?"

"Uhh…"

Lauren slipped clumsily on a greasy patch before making a wild dash outside.

"No!"

She pounded against the bonnet. It did not stop the air from escaping the tires of the car. _Her _car. Lauren kicked at the license plates till a part of it broke loose. She put a hand on the bonnet, sinking sideways with the car.

"You didn't do this. Tell me you didn't do this."

"Was the cop, I swear!"

"I believe you."

She shook a finger at him.

"You know what? I really do believe you!"

Lauren bit her lower lip, looking back at the car, then at him.

"How long will it take you to fix this?"

"A while. And it's gonna cost more than you were offering."

"I don't have a while…" she muttered.

Lauren gave a less than feminine growl and sat on the bonnet, sinking it farther down. "Of… of _all _the fucking things!" she burst out. Barry retreated deeper into the garage, his worldly wisdom too limited to assist a woman with seemingly murderous tendencies.

The deflated tires continued to sink till the last traces of air mingled with the damp moisture on the outside…

* * *

Ethan Mars's lungs felt as deflated as the balloon he let go off. For all his elaborate planning, the fucking killer did not invest in a good cylinder. Ethan did not even walk to the next balloon now. He dove towards it, as far as the chain would allow.

For now, he was two balloons away from his 'reward.' He lunged for the next balloon, eager fingers grabbing at the gaseous swelling. It burst open. The bubbles flew out in a shoal of thousands.

_No, no no, no, no, God, oh fucking, fucking God, nooo!_

His hand frantically grabbed at the bubbles. The attempt was as pathetic as it was desperate. Ethan had never had a lung collapse in all his life. Now he felt he was coming close. His windpipe was burning. Worse than his eyes. He clawed through his liquid obstruction, losing more air than distance.

Ethan slowed down. The water rippled around him, a peculiar dimension. He felt like a flag. The dizziness did not help. He dropped down to the floor of the pool. Slowly. He bounced slightly. But returned on all fours.

The bottom was dark and slippery. His hands skidded with each movement. The water gurgled in stinging bubbles in his ear. He had inhaled a bit of water too. And he felt sick enough to hurl. Even if he did, Ethan valiantly swallowed it. He moved inch by inch. It took longer yet less time than he realized. But he reached the last balloon. Ethan had no idea how.

With forced calmness now, he peeled off the last balloon and brought it to his lips. It flew in with the air. Ethan gagged momentarily, coughing as he float-dragged towards the plastic bag stuck to the wall before him. He coughed. There was a windscreen of bubbles around him. Then, he coughed some more. Far too many times. He had lost his breath. Every trace.

Water poured down his windpipe. It made him cough again. It was a vicious cycle. A deathtrap. Taking his chances, Ethan took a dive. Like the one, two years ago. Save for the bound leg, he surged forward. His fingers nails just about hit the wall. They scraped against the tiles in the agonizing descent. But they caught the plastic bag. Caught and never let go. If he had the breath, Ethan Mars would have blown it on a triumphant gasp.

He hit the ground with a simmering thud. But the packet was his. Trembling, shaking hands pulled it apart. There was a sealed memory card. There was also a key.

Ethan took it in his fist. He punched it into the keyhole and turned it. It opened. He was weightless again. Card in hand, he flew to the surface.

Ethan latched on to the nearest hard surface. He hauled himself over. Ethan lay on his back, then rolled to his stomach. He coughed, wheezed and dry heaved. Then, he lay still.

For a long, long time.

* * *

Madison parked her bike alongside a curb. He was sitting there. "Moses, Moses…" she smiled and sat cross-legged next to him.

"Come from far away, maiden?"

"As far as possible."

Moses opened his umbrella when it rained just a little harder, and held it over her head.

"'Preciate it, thanks," she smiled and slid closer to him.

"The car and license number you ask for, passed this way."

"Yes, you told me."

"Said car seemed to have technical… flaws…"

"What kind?"

"What kind? Waddya mean 'what kind, Moses?' Do I look like I own a car?"

"You own this street. It's kinda better."

"Yea, yea… I'm not good with car makes either, buh' it was dark blue and it had _1208 _as the license plate."

Madison blessed Charlene with all her heart.

"What grabbed your attention about the car?"

"You just don't see any in this neighborhood. Dead place"

"Uh-huh."

"Yea… that's why the cops put me here the first place! I see some action, I give 'em a call."

"How bad did the car look, Moses?"

"Made funny sounds. I dun' reckon he went too far."

"Which way's the nearest mechanic?"

"Down the road, bit of a distance."

Madison followed the direction of his finger.

"Sure, thanks." She got up. "If there's anything I can do…"

"How 'bout sittin' here with old Moses for a while n tellin' him where you'd run off to lately?"

Madison looked down the road which would, somewhere lead to the mechanic's. Then at Moses.

"Okey dokes," she smiled and ducked back under the umbrella.

"Bum like me gets bumm'd outta his senses in this shitty place."

"So would I, Moses. So would I."

"How's Sam doin'?"

"Great. Absolutely great."

Good will was essential. Madison sat patiently while Moses went on about… things. Short of essential clues, she hadn't really been listening. Madison Paige had mastered the art of smiling politely, while keeping a vigilant eye on her wrist watch.

* * *

When the dreadful sensation of helplessness and the draw of a fatal vice ended, a new one began. It was of shame. A terrible, cloying feeling of unspeakable shame. It took all the bravery in all of his being and his spirit to bring Norman Jayden out of the bathroom. He drew the curtains, shut the door and changed in the room.

Norman would never have been able to relive the last 24 hours again. He would've taken a different route if given a choice. Anything that could've kept him away from the humiliation of being… discovered…

Of a stranger knowing what no one, beside a select few, knew within the Bureau. Dying was a better option. If things weren't so desperate and Grace a persistent blackmailer, he would've considered that an option.

He used to, sometimes, in the dead of the night. When he was all alone, in that bare house, the half-ruffled sheets, in a life of self-imposed solitude. The ARI seemed a savior then.

"What you need is a real good woman," his cousin would say. "Someone to tie your knots. And untie the rest. Y'know what I mean."

The recollection made him smile when he was up for it. Brian always winked when he said that.

There was a reason he hadn't seen his family in a long, long time. He knew there would be no open doors for a man who rushed at the slightest inkling; obedient only to the harried beckoning of an aquamarine substance. Enslaved by it. It was a hellish quagmire, a double-edged sword. A battle to be lost.

They thought it was work, his family. Too much of it. Norman pitied their naivety initially, but later, himself. A pity that, then, turned to loathing. He always hurt the ones closest to him. Norman didn't want to do it again. Surely not to the beautiful mother, with the auburn hair and weary, brown eyes.

There was a small knock on the door. Norman opened it. Grace stood outside with his jacket, ready to move, in her dark shirt and jeans. She silently gave it to him. He put it on, a careful hand checking to see if the vial was still inside. It was.

Norman found his tie, which had been drying over the heating rod. He stood before the mirror, conscious of her sidelong glance. Maybe that caused the tremor to ebb and flow through his fingers. That, or the final trace of his body's furious revolt against his denial.

Grace noticed. She took it from him, her eyes never meeting his. A respectable distance lay between them. Norman gazed intently at her eyes, which were deep in concentration. At her firm hands, maneuvering the material. The sheer redness of her hair. He liked it.

A brief look into the mirror prolonged, when Norman saw them together.

Her tying his tie.

Just the idea of them. The actuality of it was like chasing a shadow. A falling star.

It could've been a daily routine. Maybe they did this just before leaving for work. Maybe it was hurried on some days, if the kids were making a racket. Maybe on those days, they shared a quick kiss. Maybe on others, it was gentler. Maybe, more prolonged. A furtive, sensual exploration. Maybe, till she'd nudge him away with a "We'll be late!"

Maybe he needed to see a shrink.

_Blake just ruined it for the one I did know here…_

Grace was done. She lightly smoothed the front of his shirt.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

Her voice was low, in keeping with the stillness in the room. Norman smiled. What if he did tell her?

"It's nothing."

There was that knowing look in her eyes. Of course, she didn't believe him.

"Let's go," she said.

"I'm sorry."

Grace turned away from the door.

"I'm so sorry, Grace. For what happened earlier."

Grace nodded.

"Don't mention it."

She gestured to the door with her eyes, in a _let's go_ motion. Norman followed her out. He marveled at her restraint. She marveled at his.

If it wasn't for his detachment, the renewed coldness in his demeanor, she could never have borne this. This crazy feeling, an unleashing of all pulsations within, leaving nothing but a dull throb in its wake.

He opened the door for her. She shut it behind him.

The dark clouds were gliding across the sky. They couldn't tell the time of day by looking around.

It was beginning to feel like God's own conspiracy. One that would worsen each day. They looked skyward together. A collective sigh preceded a nod, and then they were on their way.

* * *

Blake caught his shoe in a slushy patch while getting out of the car. Mad Jack's 'garage' seemed like a dumping ground for all kinds of goods, recyclable and otherwise…

He could hear a bulldozer in the distance. Blake followed the sound. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could hear Ash's warning.

_Be careful, Lieutenant._

* * *

Ethan came to. The last thing he needed was a reminder of water. Of any kind, in any form. The thick, grey clouds thought otherwise. He tried to stand, but wound up falling back on his knees. With his burnt out arms, he pulled himself back inside the dank, sheltered corridor of the club. At a snail's pace.

Ethan sat, propped against the wall, breathing heavily in desperate gasps and clutching the plastic bag to his chest. He buried his face into it. The bag swelled and compressed with his breathing. For Ethan, it was the only link between him and his son.

He wasn't sure if he was ready for a visual just yet, but he knew that this wasn't the time to crack emotionally. The more he thought of diversions, the harder things would get. Removing the memory card, he fixed it into the handset…

_ 5 2 / _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _/ R _ _ _ E _ E L T/ _ _ _ _

The next trail had to wait for a few minutes more. Ethan decided to give his body a rest. He did not want to feature on _Most Wanted _as the jackass who couldn't run for his life.

* * *

"I hate this city, Scott… _hate!"_

"You hate the traffic."

"Which comprises of people from the city."

"Think happy thoughts, Conley. Think about people from outside the city."

"Indirect reference to the profiler. Very smooth."

"I didn't talk about any profiler."

"You said 'outside the city'!"

"And _yoouuu _got rattled!"

Kathy stuck her head out of the window.

"Fucking thing goes on for miles!"

"No, not really."

"No way we're reachin' the Blue Lagoon before midnight."

"We'll be there by evening."

Kathy reclined her seat all the way to the back. Scott looked at her and smiled.

"Ah, what the hell!"

He followed suit.

"Just need glares and The Beatles," he said.

Kathy pulled out her cell and ear phones.

"Here," she said and shoved one into Scott's ear.

"Living my dream vacation," he said.

They high-fived.

* * *

Madison Paige kept wiping the visor of her helmet. The damned rain was having a field day of its own for ruining her bike ride. Wearing swimming goggles would've proved as ineffective. She preferred riding during summers. The rest of the guys in high school liked it too. Summer meant Madison Paige stepping out in denim skirts.

She parked outside a mechanic's garage.

"You Bradley?" she called out to the mucky pair of shoes under a car.

With a quick swing, he slid out from underneath; the wheels missing her feet by inches.

"I'd be anything you wan' me too," he grinned, sizing her up.

Madison sighed. If she were dead drunk, she would have replied with a 'so would I.' Until then…

"I just have a few questions…," she said.

* * *

They had been silent long enough, when Grace asked a strange question.

"How are you with keeping promises?"

Norman thought about it. He hadn't made any in a while now.

"I don't make ones I can't keep."

"But you keep the ones you make, right?"

"Is something wrong?"

"I want you to make me a promise."

It seemed serious. Norman steered to the side of the road.

"What's bothering you?"

Grace swallowed hard. She held out her hand.

"I… want you to promise me… that… that no matter what happens, we _will _find Shaun."

Norman looked at her hand, a hesitant mouth almost betraying traces of protest. He put his hand on hers. She held it tight. Norman gave it a final squeeze before saying, "I promise."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Her hand broke away from his. Norman glanced her way, a final time. Grace wondered if she saw regret there. They drove on, through the rain, immersed in their own inner worlds. Vulnerable, fragile and concealed from anyone who dared to look.

It was true. Norman Jayden did not make promises which he could not possibly keep. He had promised Grace that they would find Shaun Mars. Dead or alive was not a pre-requisite she had asked for…

* * *

**Author's note: **Thank you all for reading. :)

It's time for some love and gratitude to all the lovely people for reviewing. Yes, I know, this comes as abruptly as a director saying "CUTTTT!" at the end of each chapter. :P

I don't blame _any _of you for wanting to bludgeon Grace Garner for her brilliance. :P I remember feeling just as annoyed (British understatement, I'm sure!) when Colin Farell didn't throw Kathryn Morris against the wall and take her, in Minority Report. I also happened to be the only genius who felt there was any kind of tension between them in the first place. :|

I just love Betty Royale for reading two gi-normous chapters and giving reviews of a quarter that size! Royale, your presence is awaited on the site, once you've snapped out of the M.I.A. mode (this is more than just a pun, it's a HUGE HINT!).

Mythstoorfoot – I love you. We all do. And I love that you love shower scenes with Grace. I also love how dirty that sounds! xD And… worry not. I will always remember you for being my 99th. *sexy bedroom eyes*

Chyrstis – OMG, I saw Se7en on your recommendation! It was brilliant! And some of the scenes had been used as montages in the (Fake) Heavy Rain movie trailer! How many of you saw that, btw?

Curiosity's principle – Much love, thanks! :D Hope you liked this one.

Unregistered readers… I hope you'll read my profile. I'd feel pretty darn stupid putting comments up there if you didn't. Detailed gratitude has been expressed there.

Jim Slade and Honky Tonk Man – I actually had to revise my spelling of Ethan Mars after the two of you spelt him as "Eathan." Curious coincidence, though. :D A million thank you's to the both of you for reviewing. I'm just so happy. :))))

Soul Searcher – Thank you. Hope this chapter's been consistent too.

Greased Lightening – I am a person highly capable of making some of the most insane things on this planet. Crazy, deranged statements are my comedy forte. And while your reviews may be amusing, there are certain boundaries, we must, as considerate human beings never over-step. One of them is of religion. The place where Buddhists meditate is called a monastery. It is a place of calm and quiet deliberation. Anything derogatory said about any religion, in any part of this world will always leave a bad taste in the mouth. It is offensive to a person's beliefs. Being an Indian, and living among such diversity, I do realize how strongly people feel about it. So should you. Having said this, I do appreciate your enthusiasm over my updates. For that, I thank you with all sincerity. :)

Urban Cowboy – So, 100th reviewerrrrrrrrr! How does it feel, eh? Eh eh eh? :D Some timing that! And some brilliant telepathy on my end to predict! Gun away for this chapter, pardner! Up, up and awaayyyy!

I love you, my precious reviewers. Please people, if you haven't already reviewed, do so! I look forward to different opinions regarding the chapter. And I also want to improve. I'm pretty regular with replies, so don't worry, I'm here and listening. :D

Readers, do realize that the only reason I delay in uploading chapters is because my course is killing me and because scenes need to be edited till they're, well… digestible. :P


	14. Breaks and pauses

_Alone, alone, all, all alone,  
Alone on a wide wide sea!  
And never a saint took pity on  
My soul in agony._

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.

* * *

Previously on... The Hell Within:

1. A federal agent and a mother grapple with their feelings for each other. Norman finds the salon where the killer/his accomplice may have got the tattoo from.

2. A father nearly meets the same fate as the killer's other victims. But Ethan Mars successfully finishes the second trial.

3. A furious police lieutenant, sensing a sabotage of the investigation, slashes the tires of the woman following him. Lauren Winter was left with four deflated tires while Lieutenant Blake follows the car clue in the Bear Trial. The Ford Mondeo has been traced to Mad Jack's garage. And Carter Blake is determined to get his hands on the GPS that Barry, the mechanic, had tipped him off about.

4. An obese private eye and a spunky young detective are caught in a dreadful traffic jam, even as Virgil Minnelli has made a call to Paco, warning him of Shelby who had been asking too many questions…

5. A young journalist finds herself at a garage where the killer got the car fixed. The mechanic seems more than obliging… _(__"I'd be anything you wan' me too," he grinned, sizing her up.__)_

* * *

Being a fugitive was harder than Ethan Mars had imagined. Because you could leave nothing to chance. You always kept to the dark alleys. Pressed yourself against walls when a police car passed. Jumped at your own shadow. And prayed to all heavenly forces that those who did see your face did not recognize you.

What worsened the feeling of being hunted was the feeling of being alone. Barring a strange guardian angel in a leather jacket, he had no one to fall back to. Ethan sank again in the lane, his mind numb and body far too uncooperative. He weighed his options now, since his new found mortality compelled him to think.

The only clues he had, came from the hangman – the alphabet puzzle. Maybe it was time he began to share the details of the puzzle with someone. It was either Madison Paige or… or… he was afraid to admit - Grace Garner.

It was either a woman he had met a few hours ago or someone he had loved since high school. The choice may have been an obvious one to make, but it took Ethan a while to come to. Two years had changed a lot. She no longer loved him. He knew this even if she had never been with a man since.

What tipped the scales in her favor was the jacket he wore. Whilst he crouched, thinking, his hands snaked around his chest under that leather jacket. His mind almost instantly felt a surge of gratitude for Grace. She had gifted it to him, two months ago on his birthday.

It meant that she still cared. And that he could actually trust her. With this thought, he pulled out his phone and began dialing her number.

* * *

The sharp ringing shattered the glass-like silence in the car. Both Grace and Norman jumped at the sound. She tried to dig the phone out of her pocket. Norman tried to keep his eyes on the road. His gaze returned to her, though. He damned the interference, cursed the gadget and also himself for holding back a sneeze lest he disturb the quietude.

He saw the look on her face change when she answered the phone. The way the color drained from her face as she said, "Hello?" There was something different in the 'hello' itself. He tried to ignore the strangeness of it all.

"Hello?" she repeated into her phone.

"… Grace… ?

"Y-yeah… ?"

"It's me."

Her heart pounded furiously now. Next to her, Norman continued driving, too weary to eavesdrop. Grace swallowed hard.

"What is it?"

"I'm on to something. I think I know how I can find Shaun."

It hurt so much; Grace could swear her heart would give way.

"I see."

It did not sound _remotely _like the way she felt. When had she learnt to pull herself together?

"You aren't alone, are you?" Ethan asked.

"No," she said as the car came to a halt. Norman got out and Grace followed. _What,_ he mouthed to her. He could see that she was afraid. And that it had something to do with the phone call. "Carry on," she said to him, "I'm right behind."

Norman frowned a little and turned away. Grace followed, but remained out of ear-shot. She was scared for Ethan. And was half responsible for the mess he had gotten himself into.

"How are you… doing?" she asked him.

"We don't have time. I want you to take down letters from the hangman."

"The what?"

"Notepad and pen. Now. Hurry!"

Grace heard the sound of sirens screech past. Almost as if it had crossed her. She could hear the sound of shoes plunging in and out of puddles and huffing. She used that time to pull out a notepad and a pen from her bag.

"Are you there?" she asked. There was some more panting before he came on the line.

"Leave a blank," he said quickly, "like a 'dash' and then write a numerical five."

Grace carefully noted down the details. "What's wrong?" asked Norman, from up ahead.

"N-nothing, it's nothing!"

Of course, he didn't believe her. Grace dreaded that look in his eyes and willed him to walk on.

He did.

Grace examined the puzzle Ethan had given her.

_ 5 2 / _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _/ R _ _ _ E _ E L T/ _ _ _ _

It did not make any sense.

"What does it mean? How does it help?"

She followed Norman to the tattoo salon. It was named _Ink Inc_. Norman found it witty and opened the door for her. Grace took a step backwards, shaking her head.

"It's the alphabets to the address where the killer's kept Shaun."

Grace bit the inside of her cheek to not cry in shock. It nearly bled from the incision. Norman gave her a final look, before entering. He was thinking of taking her in himself. It was cold outside. But then again, it was better this way. Better if he investigated alone.

"Steve Wyland?" he asked a man behind the counter.

"Yup."

"Norman Jayden, FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

The glass door swung to a slow close behind him, cutting Grace away from the rest of the exchange.

"How do you know all this, Ethan?" she struggled to ask him.

"You can't tell anyone about this, Grace."

"I won't."

"I have to go now."

"I need to speak with you. I need to know… more… please!"

There was a pause at the other end. Then – "I'll call you."

"… When? Tell me so that I–I can be ready… "

"Today. As soon as I reach someplace safe."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

The line went dead.

Inside, Norman and Wyland leaned over the sketch of the tattoo.

"This look familiar?" he asked Wyland.

"Yeah, just a sec."

He pulled out a thick spiral bound register with all the tattoos he had ever engraved upon human skin. They spent a while flipping through the register.

"That one!"

They found the tattoo. "Yeah, made this one for David," he said.

Norman looked up. "You know the man?"

"Yea, but he's a good sort. He the one you lookin' for?"

"I'm looking for a man with this tattoo. I just need to ask him a few questions."

"I don't think he'd do anything serious enough to get in the FBI."

"All the same, I need an address."

Wyland opened a smaller diary to look for it. "You know… there was someone else with him. A friend. He'd come with David to get the same tattoo. Maybe he's your guy…"

"We'll see about that," said Norman.

Outside, Grace waited, enveloped in the cold breeze. She buried her face in her hands, waiting for the talk inside to end. Her mind went back to Ethan, and to the letters in the hangman.

_Oh God, just make this end. Just get these three days over with._

* * *

Madison Paige followed Bradley as he went inside.

"Yeah, there was a car here matching your description."

"Okay…" she said, finally feeling like she was making headway. "So, tell me about it."

"The car had a little problem with the shock absorbers. It bounced even on smooth roads."

"Yeah, I know about shock absorbers."

The mechanic gave her a look. Madison shrugged. "Hey, I know vehicles…"

"So you'd also know that it takes an hour or so to fix up."

"I think that's enough time to remember something about the driver."

Bradley bit his lower lip. "I'm sorry, who are you again?"

"I'm a journalist."

There was a pause.

"Was there someone with the driver?" she prompted.

"There… was a child there," the man replied, "he looked like he was asleep."

"Did the driver say or do anything suspicious to catch your attention?"

"He called up this guy, Virgil Minnelli, who rents cars, yeah? Was really pissed and fired him for sending a car that wasn't in working condition."

Madison showed him a picture of Shaun, which she had taken from the front page of a newspaper. "Is this the kid?" she asked.

Bradley looked at the picture. "Yeah, that's him. Where'd you get the picture?"

Madison sighed. Some people _clearly _managed to remain out of orbit with current affairs.

"It's not important," she said. "Did it look like he knew Minnelli well? Did business with him before?"

"Yeah, I guess. So maybe you'd wanna go question him."

Madison nodded. "Right."

"I've a brother who works for him there. Maybe he'd give you the goss."

Madison nodded again. "Okay. Thanks. But can you tell me which way the killer went?"

Bradley motioned to the road before him. "It's a straight road. There's nowhere else to go."

Madison followed the direction of his arm. _The city outskirts._

"And you're positive you never got a look at his face?"

"Nope. He had a cap and glasses, the whole works. Didn't really care, as long as he paid up."

Madison shook her head.

"Did the guy do something bad?" Bradley asked her.

"It's something I've to find out. Can you give your brother a call? Tell him I'll be coming?"

Bradley gave her a crooked smile. "You ask for too many favors, lady. What's in it for me?"

Madison returned the smile. Or rather forced herself to.

"When we find the man," she said as she stepped just that little bit closer to him, "I'll be standing right here, outside the garage." Then she whispered into his ear, "And I'll be anything you want me to be."

She moved away from him. "Call your brother."

They grinned at each other. Madison winked and turned away. She sat on her bike, her grimace hidden under the helmet as she started the motor.

_The things I gotta do…_

* * *

Blake had driven between two enormous piles of what he called 'car-cass' as his police car entered Mad Jack's scrapyard. The entrance board ominously warned its trespassers - "Access Prohibited." Blake stepped out of the car, cringing not at the slush, but the deeply annoying sound of a bulldozer. The dust and the misty screen of rain streamed down his face. It did not make his day any better.

He remembered Ash's warning.

_Be careful, Lieutenant._

Gritting his teeth, he walked to the deafening source of sound. "Hey!"

The burly African-American in control did not seem to have heard it.

Blake considered it an affront. "Hey, jackass!"

That helped.

Mad Jack gave him a fleeting glance before killing the engine. He climbed down the bulldozer, visibly displeased at the interruption.

"I'm Lieutenant Carter Blake. I want to ask you a few questions."

"I'm listenin'."

"Let's talk inside," said Blake and gestured to the garage. He did not need a criminal's permission to seek out refuge from shitty weather.

"So… what can you tell me about a Ford Mondeo with the license plate number 620-LFR-20?"

Mad Jack shrugged. "Nuthin."

Blake gritted his teeth again before talking. "The car nearly ran over a bunch of cops before crashing near Paschall's Alley. And I know the car's here. Are you still gonna stick with 'Nuthin'?"

Mad Jack gestured to a pile of vehicular reject. "It's a graveyard for cars out there. And you dun' ask the undertaker about bodies."

Blake scowled. "You're not being cooperative. I don't like that."

"You gonna arrest me, Officer? For bad behavior?" he sneered.

"It's Lieutenant. What did you do with the car?"

"You're wasting your time… _Officer_."

"Lieutenant. Where is the car?"

"I never saw your damn car! Now go take a walk."

"Someone paid you to clam up, is that it?"

Mad Jack began walking back to the bulldozer. Blake fired the final salvo in his arsenal.

"Tell me about the car and you get to walk. Or is that too much for your nigger brain to process?"

It did the trick. He stopped short and turned around. A perceived threat to his person and race had him charging at Blake in the manner of a raging bull. The Lieutenant stepped aside. The ebony Hulk blundered ahead. Blake lunged at him from behind. Together, they fell to the ground.

Mad Jack tried to roll onto his back and crush him under his weight. Blake managed to angle out of harm's way. Yet his left arm took a bad hit. Blake rolled out of the way but grunted when Mad Jack got hold of his ankles. With a quick spin, he flung Blake diagonally across the garage. The Lieutenant laded on the windshield of a car. Hard.

Stunned and rattled, he jerked and crawled to the roof of the car before dropping off behind the boot. Mad Jack moved swiftly to the back. Blake wasn't there. Gleeful now, Mad Jack rotated his neck and cracked his knuckles.

"What's wrong, pretty boy? Don't wanna play no more?"

He stepped cautiously ahead, his eyes darting over to see a hint of black and blue ducking around. "You scared, asshole? You fuckin' scared now?"

Mad Jack bent his heavy frame between two cars and looked underneath one row. He saw nothing.

"Nope," said a voice above him. The iron rod smashed into his head. It took a single blow to fell him. Lieutenant Carter Blake towered over his crumpled assailant.

"Party's over," he said.

* * *

Norman opened the door of the salon. He found Grace standing outside, face in hands.

"You okay?" he asked her.

She nodded, not quite looking up at him. "Let's get you some coffee," he said as he led her into a café. Grace was inwardly grateful, for her hands felt like icicles. They sat at a table next to the large glass window. Grace looked outside while Norman ordered two cups.

"Was it your mother?" he asked her.

"Who?"

"The phone call you just received…"

"It was a friend. Mom's not in the country. She doesn't know about this."

"Won't you tell her?"

"It won't help."

She looked out of the window again and that was the end of the conversation. Norman looked around the café, at the people there. Some looked back at him. Norman wondered what they deduced, looking at a battered, pale man and a despondent woman opposite him. Did they wonder about his bruises, her grief and how they knew each other? Did they wonder at all?

The coffee arrived and Norman quite gratefully reached for his. "Grace…" he said and motioned to the cup before her. She took a sip before setting it down.

"I'm scared," she said.

Norman put his own cup down and leaned closer. "Tell me," he said.

"I'm scared of everything. I haven't slept the whole night. I feel sick inside. So sick."

"You're worried for your son. And Ethan."

His name stirred something inside her, he noticed.

"I am scared for Shaun. Ethan can- I know he can, take care of himself."

Norman exhaled slowly. Something about his intense gaze stung her eyes. And then he said what he'd been keeping inside him for so long – "I know you care."

Her eyes widened. She tried to think of something to say. But Norman got the first say. "I know you still care for Ethan."

"You can't say that," she said. It came as a whisper.

"He's always on your mind."

She recoiled from him, an expression of contempt marking her features. "Do you know who's always on my mind?" she asked.

Norman remained still and silent, aware that any response was added provocation.

"Jason's always on my mind! Not a day goes by when I don't… think of him. And now Shaun… nothing else matters, _nobody _else matters to me!"

That harried admission struck him hard. But he took a deep breath and rammed a final nail into the coffin.

"Why does it affect you so much… if Ethan doesn't matter to you?"

Her eyes grew cold. She leaned back into her seat, watching him. Norman stared right back. Their eyes burned into each other.

"You can't decide," she finally said. "You can't decide what I feel for someone."

"And you can't push people away as per _your _convenience!"

A horrible silence followed. Norman had lashed those words out into the air. And now he knew he couldn't take them back. Grace bent forward and he could see she was fighting for words. "What… do you mean… ?" she asked.

It sounded more baffled than defiant.

"I apologize," he said coldly, lifting his coffee cup off the table. "I was out of line." He brought the cup to his lips. "Seeing as I am someone who does not matter."

He took a long sip of his coffee. It pricked and scalded his mouth, still raw from the bruises, but dulled the sensation her lips had left on his. He wanted to forget about the kisses, the embraces, his lips on her neck, her breathless moan in his ear.

His eyes watered from the flesh consuming heat of the coffee. His hand was less than gentle as he slammed the cup down on the table. Grace saw the hurt in his eyes. She wanted to go and sit next to him. Put an arm around his shoulder and kiss him ever so gently on his cheek. Take in that soft fragrance of pinecones he had on his neck. Just that gesture, she knew, would be enough to bind them together for the time being.

Instead, she pushed her cup away. It remained largely untouched. Her voice was cruel when she spoke. "You're right," she said and rose from her seat. "You do not matter to me."

Her heart and nerves revolted violently against her tongue, but she walked away with a firm jaw. It was unbearable to be in the same room with him. To look into those yearning eyes, to want to touch those fine lines around his mouth, to pull herself closer into his warm, tight embrace and to kiss that soft, warm mouth, those hungry pair of lips.

His head reeled at her harsh words. She had to be lying, his instinct screamed. But his profiling capabilities were marred by emotion. He had let this get personal. Norman Jayden grappled with desires and feelings that had been dormant for years. He could've sworn he was immune to women and sexual urges.

But he had let a certain Dr. Garner slip through the cracks. A desperate mother who could only think about saving her son. This was not how things were supposed to go. This was not going according to plan… at all…

"You should go after her."

Norman looked up. The waiter was smiling at him.

"Sorry?"

"You should go after the lady. I know something good when I see it. She'll see it too someday."

"Thanks," said Norman and forced a smile. He paid the bill and left. While walking along the curb, he saw Grace standing at a corner, hailing a cab.

_There's still time_,his mind urged. _Go for it!_

Norman began walking towards her. His pace quickened. He would pull her away from the curb, chide her gently for the delaying their pace. As if nothing had happened.

"We've got leads to follow," he would say.

But suddenly, a greater instinct took over. He halted in his steps.

_No._

He watched as Grace got into a cab and it drove away. Norman turned around and began walking back to his Impala. Her leaving was a good thing, he consoled himself. He could now concentrate on the investigation and also the reason he was in Philadelphia.

The real reason.

* * *

The rain water entered his nostrils and nearly clogged his windpipe. Mad Jack choked, spluttered and came to. He was lying under the immense grey sky. And on the mucky ground beneath. He tried to move. Mad Jack could stretch his legs, but his arms were trapped. After a careful examination, he realized his wrists were tied together by a strong chain.

It led all the way to the bulldozer. Inside the bulldozer sat Lieutenant Carter Blake.

"Aha!" he said. "Fine day, innit?"

Mad Jack struggled against his bounds.

"The hell you think you're doing, motherfucker?"

"Just makin' things a little more interesting," said Blake as he cranked up the engine. He was initially rusty at the machine controls, having worked on construction sites long ago when he was sixteen. But soon, the old knowledge of youth caught up with him and he maneuvered the machine forward.

Mad Jack got dragged along, his legs making twin tracks as he moved.

"What the hell's wrong with you, man!"

"Wanna tell me about the car?" Blake bellowed over the thundering engine.

"I ain't no snitch!"

"Have it your way."

Blake drove the bulldozer ahead, full throttle, in deliberate zigzags. Mad Jack, though bulky, was no match for the rattling machine which swung him against the metallic debris.

"You're crazy, you're fucking crazy!"

"Can't hear ya!"

With that, Blake reversed the bulldozer. Slowly. Its long winding wheels of tainted steel inched closer to Mad Jack in a gradual crunch.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"I'll talk!"

The bulldozer was coming closer to crush his arm, then sides.

"Say what?"

"The-the car's near the crusher!"

Blake stopped the engine. "Where, again?"

"It's on the top of the car-pile, next to the crusher!"

"What's it doing there?"

"I was told to get rid of it today!"

"Oh yeah?" Blake leaped out of the silenced bulldozer. "Under whose authority?"

"I dunno, man! Dint see his face, dint ask the name. He paid cash and I ain't the questioning kind."

Blake ran to the pile of cars next to the crusher. He climbed up the smooth, slippery surfaces of the cars to get to the top. Apparently, he had arrived in the nick of time. The Ford Mondeo was right on top. Blake managed to yank open a barely functional door and clamber into the back of the seat. It had been smashed. Badly. The roof was dented and ever other corner of the car had caved in.

He checked the back seat before moving ahead. Blake was wedged between two seats as he blindly ran a hand in the floor space in front. He found a smooth metallic rectangle and pulled it towards himself. A few more fumblings later, he found the rest of the pieces.

Blake climbed down the mountain of cars, slipping in places as he did, before reaching the ground. He walked past Mad Jack, who was still tied to the bulldozer.

"Hey man, what about me?"

"You know the drill," said Blake, "you've the right to remain silent. Use it."

He walked on and made a phone call to Ash. "Send some men to get Jackson Neville. And round up some hackers who can programme and retrieve information from GPSes."

"Right away, Lieutenant."

Blake knew Ash had questions about his encounter with Mad Jack. He would explain everything later, of course. Minus the racial slur, though that was a necessary evil. Provocation had been the only weapon at his disposal. It was also a tremendous time-saving measure.

Satisfied at a job well done, Blake got into the car and drove at a manic speed. He intended to drop the GPS off at the station and continue exploring the rest of the clues. He wanted to be the one to serve Ethan Mars's ass personally, to the ravenous press on a platter.

* * *

Grace looked out of her window, in the taxi. She did not entirely understand what happened, back in the café. How things came to such a pass. It was going. Perfectly fine. Everything had been put behind them. But then, Norman had to mention Ethan. Push his name ahead, as if the man was to mean something to her.

Didn't he understand? Didn't he know it was over? That talking about her missing son's father hurts now? He was no one to decide. No one.

Why did he have to go on about Ethan? About her feelings? And then his own? Did he really think she was in a position to decide what she felt now? With her son missing? With the last hope of ever finding him dying out?

So much snapped inside her back there. And she did not let it all out. But the little she said had hurt him.

Why did she do it? Why did she hurt the ones closest to her? Then again, was Norman closest to her? He was but a hostage of circumstance and vice. Why did he say that she was pushing him away? Looking back, it seemed as if he wanted her away from him. As if it was better that way. If so… why was he hurt by all this… if they didn't matter… to each other… ?

Nothing made sense. Grace felt a tightening in her chest. She had pulled herself into a much greater mess than she realized… she only hoped she'd get out of it safe and unscathed. Grace Garner could take only one more dent in her armor. And then, no more.

* * *

Scott parked the car on the curb opposite the Blue Lagoon. Kathy's phone rang that instant.

"Good timing," said Scott and got out of the car. "See you inside."

"Yeah, Ash?"

"Kathy, I need you to send over some numbers."

"What kinda numbers?"

"Hackers. The sort that programme GPSes."

"Yeah, I could send you one or two. What's this regarding?"

"Lieutenant's making some headway in the case. Apparently tied a known felon to a bulldozer and drove him around."

Kathy let out a low whistle. "Seems like the Lieutenant's in his element."

"He's on fire."

"He's a Nazi."

"Where'd you get this theory from?"

"Same place he got his torture techniques. Bet he could use Jell-O and feathers better than the CIA uses water-boarding."

She looked out of the car window. Scott had already entered the nightclub. He had left his inhaler in the dashboard.

"Nice talking to you, Ash. But I gotta run. I've my own thing goin' on here."

"Good luck. Don't forget about the numbers."

"Sending them over."

He hung up and Kathy promptly texted him a few handy digits. Then, she stretched in her seat before reaching for Scott's inhaler and getting out of the car. She had to catch up with him. Scott wasn't the sort who waited.

* * *

Impatient at Kathy's absence, Scott flashed his police badge to a henchman. "Take the stairs over there," he said to Scott and pointed at a flight across the dance floor. Scott nodded and elbowed his way through doped revelers who gyrated to Leighton Meester's "Somebody To Love."

It was an uphill task.

* * *

Kathy flashed her own badge at the bouncer. He seemed surprised, for Kathy did make an unlikely cop. More so, when she wasn't in uniform. Nevertheless, the detective hoped it would work to her advantage. Even if she wasn't dressed like a skank, the classic jeans and white shirt combo should help her blend in.

Of course, her black jacket concealed her badge and shoulder holster.

She knew Scott alone would be able to handle Paco. Walking in on 'the talk' would break the rhythm. Instead, she decided to make a beeline for the bar. She was sure of find one of Paco's cronies lurking around over there. Someone who would spill his gut after a drink and a good night on town. To her sheer luck, she found Roy Shapiro. Paco's right hand man and a certified sleazebag. There was several assault charges against him.

The victims were women. Mostly prostitutes. Kathy could happily take him down some day, when there wasn't a Big Daddy around to make calls and bail him out. She sat on an empty bar stool a little distance away. His eyes were on her, she knew. Kathy reciprocated the gaze. It took a little pouting and fidgeting on her part, but it did the trick.

Roy Shapiro slipped the key to his suite into the back pocket of her jeans, cupping her buttock ever so slightly. Kathy watched him disappear before following the same way. It was too easy.

* * *

Scott Shelby showed his badge to the bodyguard at the entrance to Paco's office/love nest. He stepped aside to let him enter. Scott walked down the dimly lit corridor and knocked at the door. There was no response. He opened it and found Paco lying slumped against a chair, his back to the door.

"Paco Mendes?"

There was no answer. Years of working on the street had taught Scott to anticipate what he knew was coming. He turned the swivel chair around. Paco Mendes had been shot through the head.

* * *

Roy Shapiro had the champagne and the music ready. Except that the music was disturbingly loud, with David Guetta belting out "Toyfriend."

She could barely hear her own thoughts over the cacophony.

"Champagne?" he yelled over the music.

"Yes! Thanks!" she yelled right back.

He turned his back to her. Kathy whipped out her gun. Roy caught the reflection on his ice bucket. With a sudden turn, he flung the bottle at her. She dodged it but not fast enough. It crushed into her shoulder and she dropped the gun. Kathy dove out of his way when he brandished his own revolver.

"I can tell a cop from a mile!" his voice boomed, loud and maniacal, over the music. He aimed the gun at her. "Show me your warrant!"

Kathy raised her arms in the air. "There is no warrant!"

He cocked the gun. She did not flinch.

"How does Paco know Virgil Minnelli?" she asked.

"With all due respect, honey, I'm the one who gets to ask the questions."

"Ironically, your boss is the one in serious shit. If you don't…"

Roy could not hear the rest of the sentence.

"What?"

Kathy spoke something, but the words remained indistinct. She saw his gun waver.

"I can't hear you!" he said.

Roy let his free hand roam over the knobs on the music system. Kathy backed slowly against the wall, mouthing the words but not speaking. Her raised hands interlinked behind her head. Kathy felt for the small wall painting behind her.

Roy took his eyes off her for a second. A second was all she needed. Kathy removed the painting off the wall, hands still behind her head. Roy turned towards her. He could barely register a golden frame spinning wildly through the air. Towards him. It hit his face.

Kathy covered the length of the room in a single bound. With another leap, she tackled him and they went crashing over the side table. The ice bucket and the music system hit the ground when they did. Kathy brought a punch down to his face, instead of 'across.' It inflicted more damage, something she observed when Blake roughed up suspects.

Kathy grabbed his collar and pulled him up for a head butt. And then, there was her finishing move. She scooped her fist into the ice bucket and swung it at Roy's face. That knocked him out cold. Kathy dragged him to the bed and handcuffed him there. She let the ear-splitting music hammer on.

Roy had to know what was going on. Once he came to, Kathy would be back for him.

* * *

Scott inhaled deeply at the sight. The breath was ragged. He knew things were going wrong even as he felt for his inhaler. It wasn't there. The door behind creaked very slowly. Scott sensed movement before it even began. The dark figure had endeavored to sneak out from behind the door. Scott thwarted the attempt with a fiery push.

The shadow rammed against the door. Scott landed a punch to his face, shocked at the feeble force. He needed his inhaler. The deprivation worked to the masked man's advantage. Scott was at the receiving end of unrelenting blows.

He dodged them the best he could, gasping.

_Can't breathe, can't fucking breathe!_

Scott grabbed a chair and held it unsteadily between them. It proved a good defense, but not for long. Scott felt himself lose consciousness and tried to fling the chair at the dark figure as a last ditch effort. The killer toppled but rolled over and knocked Scott off balance. He was on his feet faster than the private eye.

Scott saw a white hot flash. Then, he felt the full impact of a jaw-shattering kick. He anticipated another blow coming. But it did not. His vision was blurry but he saw someone pounce on his attacker.

It was Detective Conley.

Kathy locked herself around his back. The killer thrashed around wildly, slamming her backwards into the fish tank. The glass cracked on impact. Scott convulsed in a corner. Kathy lost her grip on the killer. She slipped to the ground. The killer sent a burning slap across her face.

Kathy went still as she hit the floor. The killer surveyed the damage and decided to leave. He turned and began to walk away. Kathy flared up in a final flash of strength. She reached for his jacket and got dragged all the way to the door before the killer forcefully opened the door into her face.

Kathy screamed but did not lose her grip. Still, the killer managed to tear himself away from her and made good his escape. Either that or Kathy tore a pocket out of his coat. She looked at her enclosed fist. There was indeed a pocket. She gagged over the blood that clogged her nose and shifted weakly to look at her fallen comrade.

"Scott? Scott!"

He was still.

"Shit!"

She crawled over to him, realizing only then, the extent of bruises on herself. It had been two rough fights, one after another. She stretched till the inhaler was in his mouth and pumped the renewing spurt of air into his mouth. He gasped, reviving almost instantaneously. Still, he kept his head down and groaned before trying to sit up. "Owe you one," he gasped to Kathy.

She panted too and sat next to him. The office was a terrible mess. Paco Mendes lying dead on his chair did not beautify the scene. Or the scenario.

"Who was that guy?" she asked.

Scott rose to his feet. "Let me figure that out. You call the station. Get a forensic team here. A competent one."

"On it."

Kathy was on the phone. Scott was on his way out.

The bodyguard was outside the door, standing as if nothing had happened. "Who was the guy? The one who came before us?"

His answer was less than courteous. "Sorry, I don't speak 'cop'."

He was more cooperative after a punch. A rejuvenated one at that.

"Aaron. He said his name was Aaron."

Scott let him go and went back inside. "Any luck?" he asked Kathy.

"They're on their way."

"Good. This was one fucked-up dead-end."

"Not entirely. I know someone who might talk."

"Shoot."

"Roy Shapiro."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you find him?"

"He was… around."

She pulled her shirt and jacket to reveal a black mark on her shoulder. "And not very welcoming either."

Scott gently patted the wound. It was fatherly in its own way. "The bastard… where is he?"

"I'll take you to him."

"Can hardly wait."

Scott held the door open for Kathy as she led the way.

* * *

Ethan reached Madison's apartment, safe and sound. It was generous of her to lend him a duplicate key. He closed the door behind him and looked around the studio apartment. It was sparse and strictly utilitarian. There was a lot she could have done with the space. The place could have been better furnished. And maybe echo a bit less.

He did not dwell on that for too long since he had a promise to keep to a woman he hadn't had a decent conversation with in months. Eagerly yet with a little trepidation, he dialed her number. She picked up and her voice made his heart pound faster. He was nervous.

"Hello?"

"Are you alone now?"

"Yes."

He took a deep breath. "How've you been?"

"Better on other days… how are you holding up?"

"I'm a fugitive."

"… Right…"

It was Grace's turn to take a deep breath on the other line. "What's happening, Ethan? What is the hangman puzzle about? How is it a clue to Shaun's location?"

"It… it just is."

Grace leaned forward. She was at the edge of her bed, not having bothered to change from her wet clothes after the taxi ride. The rage and frustration she'd thrown at Norman was immediately forgotten when her phone had rung.

"Tell me, Ethan. Tell me everything…"

"I don't know where to start… there's so much to say…"

He paused on the phone, grasping for words. The silence got too much for Grace to bear. "I know about the blackouts," she said, suddenly. The voice jumped at the other end. "What?"

"I spoke to Dr. Dupré. He told me everything, right after the police made a mess of his office and- "

"Mess? What do you mean 'mess'? What were the police doing there?"

She had screwed up. Then and now. Grace Garner was about to confess to something she thought she could've avoided… until later. This is _exactly _what happened when she got stressed. She screwed up.

"The police knew about your blackouts, Ethan…"

She stopped. Grace could not make herself go any further.

"How?" he asked.

Ethan was met with a stony silence.

"How?" he repeated. The tone was demanding.

"Because I told them."

Dead silence. On both ends. Like the tense moment in the car with Norman a few hours ago, Grace was trapped in a situation where to speak first seemed a dreadful burden. Ethan was courageous enough to break it first.

"… Why? Why would you do that?"

"I don't… I didn't know, I was scared and you weren't picking up the phone and- "

"What the _fuck _were you thinking? I'm a suspect now! They're after me and they won't stop now!"

"Maybe you could've thought of that before you landed up dazed and out of your senses outside my house! Or before you tried to dope yourself and jump off a train!"

There was another pause. Grace could feel Ethan struggling with his thoughts.

"I don't _ever _remember landing up at your house."

He ran a hand over his forehead and then through his hair. "Grace… why?"

"Because I didn't know what else to do…"

They were quiet on both sides now, breathing lightly. Ethan put the phone next to him to cover his eyes for a while before getting back on line.

"Did it…" He paused to swallow the lump in his throat. "Did it really take two years to undo fifteen together?"

Grace swallowed hard too.

"All it took was an accident, Ethan."

It felt like she would cry. But she didn't. She was so brave, he thought. The one who really pulled through during the crisis. Ethan sighed. "I'm so sorry."

"What are you doing, Ethan? Why are you doing things to get yourself in trouble?"

"Because it's the only way I can find Shaun."

"How?"

"There are trials. It's the only way out of this."

"What trials? And what about the hangman?"

"I can't tell you about the trails..."

"Why? Ethan, why?"

"Because… you'd never believe me."

"I believe you now. Please tell me."

"I-"

Ethan couldn't get himself to say it. Not immediately. "I… I think I'm responsible for what happened to Shaun."

"What? How?"

Grace stood and paced the room. She couldn't take this anymore. "Ethan, please! Talk to me!"

She heard a sob on the phone.

"I'm sorry, Grace. I'm so sorry."

"Ethan, tell me what happened. What did you do?"

"I don't know what happened… I'm sorry…"

"Ethan, I'm begging you."

"I've to go."

"Ethan, don't hang up! Ethan! Don't!"

"You'll hear from me… when this is all over."

"I can't wait three days, Ethan. It's my son!"

The silence deafened her from the other line. Then – "He's _my _son too."

"Ethan…"

"And I'm doing whatever I can to bring him back."

"I know, I'm sorry…"

"Sorry doesn't fix it, Grace."

"I know, I know, Ethan…"

"I don't think we can even mend what's broken. It'll be unfair to even think- "

"I want to help you. Let me help you, Ethan."

"You can't help me. Nobody can help me."

"Where are you, Ethan? Let me come see you."

"It's too risky… too dangerous…"

"I – I can't just sit here and watch the cops get to you."

"I'll be careful this time. And turn off my phone now so I don't get traced."

"You think I'm helping the cops trace you?"

"Can't be too careful."

"Ethan, it was a mistake. We've all made mistakes."

"I'm trying to correct mine."

"Ethan…"

"Goodbye, Grace. You'll get _our _son back. You'll see him again."

"Ethan, wait!"

The line went dead. Grace kept looking at the number, tears falling down her face onto the handset. She placed it on her bed-side table and slowly sank back into her bed. Ethan was right. You couldn't mend what was broken. And Grace Garner knew that she had pushed the envelope too far this time. Ethan would probably hate her for the rest of their lives. Only and only because she didn't trust him enough.

Because she didn't trust her own judgment of a person.

Grace would regret this. For every living moment. That would be her punishment.

* * *

_Are you prepared to suffer to save your son?_

_The old power plant on Embarcadero Street._

Lauren looked up from her notepad. She had written down the addresses from all the origami figures in serial order. If she had known how deserted the place was, she would have come the next day. But with Carter Blake pursuing the first origami figure and slashing her tires as warning, examining the address on the second figure seemed the next logical step. Either way, she didn't want to be sitting idle.

Lauren did consider asking the taxi driver to wait for her while she looked around. However, he was gone before she could frame her request better. The absence of an irate driver and a ticking meter, no doubt, gave her more time to explore. Even as Lauren tried to push open the main gate, she wished she had the money to pay extra. Then again, she could have got her car a new set of tires.

The gate did not budge. Lauren shivered and looked around. There was nobody, not a soul. "You'll be fine, you'll be fine," she muttered to herself as she climbed up an uneven pile of bricks and past the opening of the crumbling wall.

She saw a door before her. Like the gate, it did not yield to pressure. The other option was to continue past some barb wires to God knows where. Lauren was scared. She found an old drum lying in a corner, knocked over and weather-beaten. Like the rest of the setting. It was heavy. Lauren grunted at the effort and stumbled to the door.

She flung it weakly at the handle. Nothing happened – the impact was not strong enough. Lauren picked it up again and walked backwards, facing the door. Then, she sprinted in long bounds towards it, panting as the barrel began slipping from her hands.

She made it just in time, breaking open the door. Lauren tripped and landed on the barrel, slipping off the surface when the barrel rolled. She looked up at the ceiling, a careful hand running along her ribs. No damages sustained.

There was a long winding corridor; she saw that it disappeared into the darkness. Lauren switched on the flashlight in her cell phone. Something glowed in the dark. It was a butterfly. Spray-painted. She remembered noticing a butterfly shaped origami figure. Things did not make much sense, but they did become a little clearer.

What happened here, she wondered. How was it connected to the fate of a drowning child? Her heart pounded all the way to her ears. She turned to look at the door behind for reassurance. It had glided to a half-close, covering the only way out. The words behind the door prickled her skin.

Sprayed in a dark red with somber mockery, read: Coward.

Lauren squealed in fear, backing away from the door into a dark corridor. She banged into a door. A shaking whimper escaped her lips as she threw it open and heaved herself up the elevated ground. She leaped back to her feet, pumped, curious and alert. The torchlight illuminated a large room. There was a raised platform on her right. She beamed her light upwards.

There was an open hatch above, an even ground before it. And then, there was a long jump to where Lauren stood. There were butterfly signs spray-painted on the wall, and 'Coward' on the second door as well. She turned and flashed her light on the other end of the room. There were wires…

_Weird._

Lauren could not see too far into the room. She had to make her way through the wires. Edging closer, she brought her pinkie finger to the topmost wire. There was no current. Lauren turned her flashlight around. The place gave her the creeps. She paused for a moment and swore that she could hear footsteps.

_The place is driving you crazy._

Taking a deep breath, she bent through the gap between the wires. Lauren leaned over and landed on her palms. She took another deep breath and raised her right leg off the ground. Bringing the knee to the wire, she balanced herself and propelled her body forward with her left leg.

With quick timing, Lauren bent her legs as she tumbled through the wires. She flashed her light over the tangle she had come though, mildly impressed. Her profession, however dishonorable, gave her an impressive degree of flexibility.

Flashlight pointing ahead, Lauren moved stoically towards the next set of wires. She stuck her left arm out, through the wires, holding the mobile-torch. Carefully balancing her weight, she stuck her left leg through. Lauren bent low, head moving from under the wire to the other side. She looked up, angling for a smooth move. And that was when she saw the body.

Brown, charred and tangled in the wires ahead. A hideous silhouette.

She screamed.

Her legs gave way and she dropped her phone. Panicking, she struggled against the wires that trapped her in place. The stray beam of torchlight was still somewhere along the ground. Lauren did not bother retrieving it, more eager to run up and away into the darkness. It was pitch black everywhere except near the body. The torchlight further illuminated the frightening apparition. Lauren grunted and screamed again, the wires twisting and closing around her wrists.

"Help!" she screamed. "Help!"

It echoed in the large room, growing in volume and ringing fiercely in her own ears. She lost her balance, falling on her right shoulder. Lauren kicked the air. Her feet got caught up in the wires. A pair of arms closer around her.

She screamed again.

It echoed again.

Lauren fought and bit, spat, cursed and struggled till a voice finally said, "Hold still." She was crying and realized it only then. Lauren whimpered and pulled at her bonds.

"Please… help…"

A strong arm found its way around her shoulder. The other freed her from the wires that held her in place. The hand retrieved her phone lying on the ground. Lauren saw the faint outline of her savior as it glowed against the light. The person noticed the body.

Lauren heard a faint "Holy shit," from that end.

The shadow turned to her. "Let's get you out of here."

She let the man scoop her into his arms, too faint to protest. Unabashed now, she sobbed into his shoulder, too shaken for restraint. The arm supporting her back gave a rough, awkward pat to her shoulder. Lauren moved her arms tighter around his neck, shaking as the person carried her back into the cool, open air.

She recoiled from the sudden brightness of the street lights and buried her face in his chest. It felt familiar. There was something about the tang of perspiration wafting through his shirt. About his rough touch. The gruff, husky voice. Yet unusual about the care those arms took in holding her.

_Holding her._

Lauren knew almost instantly then. She craned her neck upwards. Her blurred vision sharpened. Lieutenant Carter Blake was looking down at her. They exchanged a look.

Lauren knew she should release her grip, but she held on. In that brief horrific moment, he was all she had. Blake carried her into the police car, to the back-seat, yet again.

But this time, he was slow. Tender almost.

"Get in," he said, and Lauren did. She was grateful to be away from the rain. He shut the door and pulled out his phone. The lieutenant began talking to someone on the line. Lauren wasn't listening. She tried to wrap her arms around herself, to get warm. There was a black, over-sized trench coat already covering them.

She never realized when he had slipped it on her. Lauren looked at the coat, then at him, wide-eyed as he continued to speak on the phone. As if all that had transpired was part of the job. Still, when she wasn't looking, Lauren missed the look the lieutenant gave her. She had been through a lot, the poor bird. He sighed, shook his head and continued to talk on the phone.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE/RENEWED DISCLAIMER/ANNOUNCEMENT**

**AND AN APOLOGY**

I've been terrible. The WORST person ever! The delay was ridiculous. To atone for such a grave transgression, I wrote this gigantic chapter. I wanted to update my other HR fan fic before I got to this one. The delay had been even longer for that one. I'm not at all proud. In fact, there was so much more I wanted to cram into this chapter. But I guess it'll have to wait for the next one. I am so, so sorry.

Another reason for the delay was that I lost someone close to me. Didn't feel like writing much after that.

I knew I had taken too long when Jim Slade reviewed asking for another chapter. He never does that. Then Soul Searcher, Schooled Ash (welcome to the club!) and Greased Lightening reviewed. That sent me into a bit of a panic mode. So a lot of this chapter has been written very fast, in very short notice. So many portions re-written. It was awful. I hate editing, but here I am. :D

Please pardon any typos you see. They annoy me and I'm trying my very best to avoid them.

Yes, Madison was flirty in this chapter. I incorporated that bit after Sexy Girl. Personally, I'm against the slutty journalist stereotype and will do my utmost to avoid it if I ever write a story where the protagonist's a journalist.

**Renewed disclaimer: **I own Heavy Rain. If not the copyrights, but the game. Finally! I felt like such a moron for writing 13 chapters into a story I had only YouTubed. The game tumbled out of the PS3 when I unwrapped it a few days after Christmas. It's one of those moments you go numb with happiness. Considering I played it on Hard mode, I got a decent enough ending, something I wasn't gunning for. I wanted the worst possible end first, but played along. Jayden died in the warehouse fight against the killer, Madison became a bestseller, Lauren killed Scott, Ethan – Shaun started afresh.

Not too shabby I'll say.

**Announcement: **My dear readers, I'm happy to announce that a short story of mine (titled _Mists of Time__) _made its way into a book of short stories with 14 other authors out of a lot of entries, me being the youngest of the lot. :P The name of the book is **Labyrinth – Short Stories**. It may seem like self-plugging, but you have all been so encouraging, I figured you'd want to read something of mine, beyond the fanfiction –y pursuit I have going on.

Please buy it. The kindle edition is available on Amazon. I shall leave the link on my profile, so it's easier for you to find it. Please let me know what you thought of the story. Mention it in your reviews. **OTHERWISE I SHALL UPDATE NO MORE! BWAHAHAHAHAHAA!**

No, but seriously. This is a huge deal. I would love if the folks who've been so encouraging, get to read it. Would've loved to sign your copies. ;D

Okay folks. I've held my end of the deal. Chapter's here. Do understand that I only update once I know all the reviews are in. So get cracking! Greased, Lightening, Soul Searcher, Honky Tonk Man, Urban Cowboy, Chyrstis, mythstoorfoot, Jim Slade, Schooled Ash.

Jim Slade! Be careful not to over-indulge in beer! It can be dangerous. Veerry dangerous.

This is my longest chapter at around 10, 130 words. The size of an average screenplay without the dialogue, I'm told. Yikes...

Much love to you all, people! You are loved. xxxx :)


	15. Lost

**Author's note: **Beauty is pain. So is writing, at times. Since I am unbelievably gorgeous and write, you can imagine the agony I am in. Also, I am overworked. Hence, might die. If that happens, this fic lies dormant. If not, the story continues.

Much love to Chyrstis for picking up Labyrinth – Short Stories. That is a very unexpected and touching way of showing your support. And thank you, Urban Cowboy for your warm wishes. Hope you got to read my story. And liked it. (fingers crossed). The book launch was memorable. We had Shobhaa De (writer, columnist) unveil it for us. Would've loved to see you guys there.

Tons of love for the reviews to my other lovely readers – Schooled Ash, mythstoorfoot, Mr. Crouch's Daughter, Soul Searcher, Greased Lightening, Jim Slade, Honky Tonk Man and Thelann.

I am not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but will try harder next time, I promise. Forgive the lame flashback below too. More complicated the story, more difficult it gets to write. It's my least favourite things to pen down anyway.

* * *

Previously on… The Hell Within:

1. Norman Jayden gets information about David Williams from the man at the salon. He was possibly the same man who paid a drug dealer to lace Ethan's coffee, because the tattoo on the screen-grab matched the description he had been tipped off about.

2. Carter Blake acquires a smashed GPS inside the car used in The Bear trial by a missing father. He also stumbles upon Lauren Winter and the man's dead body at the powerplant in The Butterfly trial.

3. Scott Shelby finds Paco Mendes dead and gets attacked by a masked silhouette. Kathy Conley makes a timely intervention.

4. Ethan Mars feels betrayed by Grace's statement to the police while Madison Paige hunts down a car garage on the city outskirts where the killer got his car fixed. She traces the car to Virgil Minelli's rental service.

* * *

Norman Jayden turned the corner to the building where David Williams lived. Through the rain-streaked windshield, he could make out the flashing blue and red lights of the emergency services. Norman parked the car to the side and stepped out. Damn rain poured in through his collar.

_Is there even a point in a trenchcoat?_

"What happened here?" he asked a passing paramedic. The man rushed past, making way for a shrouded body on a stretcher. The white sheets were stained. And the victim… dead. Norman did not have to wrack his mind regarding the victim's identity. An end however undesirable, seemed predictable if the investigator is on the right track. Or even the killer, for that matter.

Nevertheless, Norman took a deep breath, clenched those pale, slender hands and entered the grimy, grey structure. The city seemed to have too many of them, he noted, as he climbed up the stairs. He entered the flat. It was a bustling, sealed crime scene with a photographer shooting the spatter stains and an ageing detective explaining the situation to a much younger officer.

_Rookie_, Norman decided.

He flashed his credentials to an approaching officer, whose authoritative grimace changed to one of grudging acceptance. "You guys get here quick," said the cop.

"Yeah…" Norman looked around. "This doesn't look like a break-in."

"It's not. The vic knew the killer. No signs of struggle. Crushing blow to the back of the head."

"Who alerted you?"

"Gotta blank 911 call from here."

"Mind if I have a look around?"

"Go ahead."

The cop returned to his team. Norman darted a quick gaze around the room. There was blood on the carpet, a dangling receiver on the corner. The rest of the house was a mess, but that was attributable to David's porcine lifestyle. He did not need the ARI to confirm the absence of fingerprints on the receiver among other places. Still, he slipped them on, just to be sure.

* * *

"Well, well," said Scott and pushed the door open. Roy Shapiro, still hand-cuffed to the bed, tried to snarl something over the music. Kathy shut the door behind her. Scott turned down the volume. "Can't pick someone your own size, eh?" he said.

"Fuck you!" spat Roy.

"I was talking to my partner."

Scott pinched his trousers above the knee before sitting at the foot of the bed. "You know anyone by the name 'Aaron'?"

"Who the fuck made you king around here? Lemme go!"

"It would be in your best interest to cooperate," continued Scott, in a calm, even tone. It was easier now, with the asthma out of the way. "Your boss," he said, "had obviously gotten off on the wrong footing with this person."

Roy froze his gaze. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Paco's dead," said Kathy. "Who's Aaron?"

He was aghast. "No shit."

"Who's Aaron?"

"I – I don't know! What happened to Paco?"

"Bullet. Smack in the noggin."

His helplessness pleased her. She would have loved to dangle the gory details before him. It was Blake's favorite interrogation technique. But Scott was more no-nonsense in deriving information. "Paco had enemies," he said. "Who'd seem the most eager to get to him?"

"He's got more guys on his ass than any file in your fucking department."

"Oh, I'm pretty damn sure of that!" said Scott. "But how does 'Aaron' fit into all this?"

"Uncuff me and I'll help you."

Scott and Kathy shared a glance. She nodded to him and pulled out her gun. "I can shoot a cherry off that nice fruit-stand you got there," she said. "So let's eliminate the friskiness."

She handed Scott the key. The private eye freed his wrists, amused at their captive's whimpering relief.

"Take me to his office. We're gonna have a word with the bouncer."

Roy got up from the bed. "You don't need that, sweetheart," he said to Kathy. Her hand did not waver. "Keep walking," she said.

"Tough kid," mouthed Scott to her with a wink as he escorted the crook out of his suite.

* * *

Blake got into the car and began to drive. "Thank you,' said Lauren. She received a grunt in return. Blake's eyes were firm and concentrating on the road. The car was a shade of dirty grey, darting through nighttime's shadow. The twin beams cut parallel tracks in the darkness, being for some reason, more effective than the streetlights.

"Where are we going?" she ventured to ask.

"I'm dropping you home."

Like he would ever share with her the details of the case.

"Are you talking about the one you smashed through?"

"Do you have any other?"

"I never had any."

He looked at her in the rear view mirror. The glance was no longer cold. "There someplace I can drop you off at?"

"No."

His eyes shifted from the mirror only to return. "You can get the door fixed tomorrow. Manage a night."

"You think a hooker with a broken door in a building of creeps stands a _chance_?"

Blake shrugged. "Call it professional hazards."

"No."

Her own firmness made Blake take notice of her again.

"I am _not _leaving this car."

"Really?" he smirked. The woman was a born entertainer.

"You break my door, I sleep in your car." She glared into the back of his head. "It's a fair trade."

"It's a busy vehicle," warned Blake. "Sure you wanna feature as the homeless hooker in the _Cops _footage?"

"You're the one driving. Sure you wanna be caught with a homeless hooker in the backseat?"

Blake gave her a final glare in the mirror before driving on ahead. She was feisty. Difficult to shake off. She had the audacity to pursue the clues on her own. Their paths would possibly cross more often than he would like. But something told him that they had already criss-crossed into a hopeless tangle. He hoped the other officers were making significant progress as well.

Lauren reclined into her seat, soaked and shivering. Blake could hear her teeth chatter. He turned on the heater in the car. Lauren secretly blessed him. Blake reviewed the case in his mind, not having the luxury of some shitty 3-D shades. Strange origami figures, dead body of a man found meshed in the powerplant wires and a broken GPS.

He had to be on the right track. Clues were unraveling through linear progression, not brute force. But the killer had woven a complex thread, holding everything in place. Although how Ethan Mars managed to execute such a grand plan remained a mystery to Blake. He was rich. Possibly had the means to pay off a lot of dirtbags. Blake almost felt a flicker of reluctant admiration for his deviousness.

But very soon that flicker was replaced by a quiet, bubbling feeling of rage. After two years of making him and his department look bad, Lieutenant Carter Blake would dismember Mars with his own hands. And throw him into the same godforsaken shithole he drowned the little boys in.

* * *

Grace tucked a folded newspaper under her arm as she walked in the rain. She was getting increasingly accustomed to the cold needle pricks of raindrops. It seemed a fitting torment. If her son was drowning somewhere in a secluded well, away from any kind of help, she felt guilty about seeking warmth for herself.

The cab driver was paid with the change taken from the paper vendor. As the taxi merged with the rest of the traffic, she walked the brief distance home. She wanted to make a quiet entry into the neighborhood. Not in a flashy cab, to bait the reporters. The biting wind slashed at her, draining her face of blood. She tripped twice on the pavement before considering walking carefully. Home was warm but not comforting. Grace began putting every framed photograph face down to avoid looking at them.

She averted her gaze from the wall photos as she climbed upstairs. It would be far too tedious to turn all of them around. Once in her room, she changed quickly and ran a hand on the top of her closet. A folder came within her reach. She jerked it out and flipped it open. Inside, were newspaper cuttings and articles. Anything related to the Origami Killer's case. Grace spread the clippings out on the bed.

In her time away from prying eyes, Grace worked dexterously in collecting them over three days. Papers were taken in piles from the newsstands. Her printer worked overtime at night. The details varied in the reportage but the story remained the same. A child would drown after four days, in the fall. Police had nothing to go on.

Some follow-up stories, she noticed, contained statements of two mothers mentioning the disappearance of their husbands. Still, the dead boys remained the highlight. Nobody covered the two instances of paternal disappearances. Maybe because the stories were a year apart. Maybe because no other woman went to press reporting a missing husband.

Which meant that something happened to them when the sons were kidnapped.

_Where do they go?_ she wrote in her notepad.

Then, she wrote the word 'Trials' and circled it three times over. Ethan had said something about trials. What trials? How did doping yourself count as a trial?

Was he losing it? Was he going mad?

_Ethan has been suffering from a morbid neurosis since his first son died. I understand if he did not tell you…_

"_We also found traces of cocaine in his blood."_

"_He tried to evade police arrest!"_

The statements were not easy to counter. Nor was the media.

"_Ms. Garner, your ex-husband is suspected to be the Origami Killer. What do you have to- "_

"_Don't you ever call on this number again!"_

Her phone buzzed with lesser frequency now. And the media no longer camped outside the house after old Mrs. Botts next door told them that she had taken up temporary accommodation 'elsewhere.' No forwarding address given.

_Ethan, there better be a damn good explanation for this when I find you…_

And that was when it struck her. She _had to _find him. For his own good. Save him before he… disappears. She had to get to him before something else does. And if he did suffer from grave psychological imbalances, she would talk to him. They… they could come to an agreement. He could lead her to Shaun, and she could petition for his clemency in court.

She desperately wanted to believe that he was not the killer. But there was too much working against him. She would help him, if he just helped her find Shaun. There would be a way out of this. Very soon, she would know what to believe. Grace wanted to be able to walk with her head held high again. She would not be the former wife of a criminal. Or a mother of two dead sons.

Maybe she was selfish. Burning her bridges as the days dragged on.

"_Seeing as I'm not someone who matters…"_

She drew her legs up on the bed, her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around them.

_Oh Norman …_

She could not even understand what happened there. He cowered under her will. As did she, to his… vulnerability? She did not know. But something had happened back there. Maybe if they had met at a mall or in the queue for a movie ticket, things would have been different. Yet, if this was the only way a man from Washington could have met a woman from Philadelphia, Grace could not help but wonder where this was supposed to go.

_I could never love a man like you…_

And something in that thought startled her. As if she was lying to herself.

_No… no!_

Everything they went through together flashed before her eyes. Grace closed them, only to have the images get more vivid. She distracted herself with her notepad.

_Find Ethan, find Ethan, find Ethan…_

And then, it hit her. As suddenly as her realization –

_No! Focus!_

And after taking a deep breath, she did. Ethan had called her. It was the last phone call on her cell phone. It could be… traced? _Why not? _She could find the location of his last call and take it from there. He did say that he would call when he reached someplace safe, didn't he?

There were moments in life when Ethan had been her knight in shining armor. It was time for her to rescue him right back. Grace dialed Scott's number. She could barely hear him over the din on the other line.

"I'm in the middle of something!" he yelled over the music.

"I want you to trace a number for me."

"Now?"

"I am messaging it to you."

And thus, Ethan Mars's number zipped across from her handset to Scott's. The slightest indiscretion and everything could fall to pieces. Grace crossed her fingers for a moment, before sifting through the articles again. But in some corner of her mind, the pale FBI profiler lingered. Even as she tried to push him out of her mind, an instinct told her that it would not end very well for her.

* * *

If Madison's apartment betrayed any indication of her dynamic career, Ethan remained painfully ignorant of it. He had survived police arrest and a death trap in twenty-four hours. He did not have an eye for detail at the moment. Right now, he was more concerned about saving his son. And preparing his body for it.

He was not doing a very good job, he knew and Madison realized it as soon as she entered the flat.

"My God, what happened?" she asked, alarmed. He was crumpled in front of her sofa. "I'm… fine. Don't worry about me."

Madison stood near her door, watching him for a moment. Then, she crossed the length of the open platform and stepped down to sit next to him, on the floor.

"What's this?" she asked, running a light finger over a welt on his ankle.

"It's nothing."

Madison sighed. "What are you hiding, Ethan?"

"If I told you, you'd never believe me."

They exchanged a look, which Ethan broke away to rest his head on his knees.

"Try me," said Madison. "I won't be turning you in after bringing you here."

Ethan raised his head. "That's what troubles me. Why won't you?"

_Because I'm an investigative journalist… ?_

"A little common sense. An architect on a killing spree for two years doesn't seem right. And it wouldn't. Not even in a crime novel."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You're talking as if you aren't."

Ethan looked at her. Madison leaned away, slightly.

"You _aren't_?"

Ethan buried his face in his hands, rocking restlessly.

"You actually think you could do such a thing?"

"I'm not so sure anymore."

"Ethan, you're not the killer. They can't tie you up to anything!"

"They don't need to. You should've been there, Madison. You should see what happens in there. It's not proof they're looking for."

"They're looking for a scapegoat?"

"Exactly."

Madison sighed and reclined against the front of the sofa.

"I hate to break this to you, Ethan, but your escaping may have weakened your case."

Ethan opened his mouth, but stopped mid-way. What if she was right? What if Norman was in on this with the cops from the beginning? What if they had been tracking his movements since he escaped?

"Did you find any cops on the way here?"

"They're combing all the main roads, but none in this area."

Ethan nodded. "Thank you," he said, almost inaudibly.

"We'll find him, Ethan. We'll find Shaun."

"At what cost?" asked Ethan, pursing together a quivering mouth. "How much more?"

A tear slid out in a small, surreptitious path. Madison sat facing him. "I wish I could tell you, Ethan." She put her hand on his clenched fist. "I really do."

"Everything I cared about is gone."

"There's still time, Ethan."

She leaned closer to put an arm around him. "There's still time."

The storm raged on, outside and within. Madison watched the open window and the rain spray onto her kitchen counter. She gave his shoulder a final squeeze before getting up to close it. "Let's find something for your ankle," she said, leaving the room and him alone to his thoughts.

The rain beat against the window pane, like persistent drum rolls, egging Ethan on as he unfurled the origami figure for his next trial.


	16. Simmer

**Author's note: **Is this a good enough indication, Honky Tonk Man? ;) I hope it is for all my readers and reviewers who have waited, if at all, so patiently for the update. I will finish this story. So help me, God. I will see it to the bloody end. It shall be done. I am not forsaking anyone. But I still am very sorry that the delay was so, so long.

Seven months is a long, long time. Which obviously means things were a little hectic on the academic front and distressing personally. The whole process of pulling myself together took a while. And when I did, I had to face up to class assignments. Anyone who tells you that lightning doesn't strike the same place twice or that grief can be heart-breaking is a liar. The whole body goes with it, so I have temporarily replaced my generic heart with a stone one. It's working fine, thank you very much.

I will wait for all the regular reviews to review this chapter, before I move on to the next one so that I know everyone is on board.

I thank some of my reviewers for picking up **Labyrinth - Short Stories **and giving me feedback for the same. You know who you are. :) And this certainly means a lot. **Urban Cowboy.** Your comment was especially very moving. I appreciate it when readers can identify with my story, but if only it didn't have to be that way, you know? I understand and will keep my fingers crossed for you.

For all those of you who wanted to know what **other writing I am up to**, you can start by checking out my profile on **Litizen**. It is a writing website started by my publishers before they came out with the anthology. They had a **500 word competition** titled 'When Love Bites'. Theme: Someone/something who you love who has a way of riling you up. My contribution to the competition is called **'Pecking Order'**. You can keep checking out my profile for updates (for I will be uploading another short story called **'Better Times'**, which was an anti-war story I had written in the wake of the Gaza conflict. It's really not that great and needs editing, but I'll put it up so that you guys will have more than one thing to read from me.

I wrote a few, not many, but a **few movie reviews for this online website called Scribido **at a friend's request.

The relevant **links **will be posted on my **profile**.

I love you all very much, my amazing readers.

And of course my reviewers (some of you who have sent your lovely messages via Facebook and emails): Honky Tonk Man, Greased Lightning, Urban Cowboy, Soul Searcher, mythstoorfoot, Jim Slade, darkergrey, Chyrstis and Thelann. Hope I didn't leave anyone out.

I am right here. And possibly updating faster now that I have given my final gradation exam.

* * *

**I dedicate this chapter to Normand Corbeil, music composer of Heavy Rain, who passed away from pancreatic cancer at the age of 56. And also, to Roger Ebert, whose weekend columns I shall deeply miss.**

* * *

Previously on… The Hell Within:

Norman + Grace = tattooed man with Ethan's spiked coffee - two such tattoed men as it turns out. One of them, a David Williams is found dead in his apartment. The duo also had an Ethan-related fight which had Grace walk away, just as conflicted as the profiler.

Blake + Lauren = He rescues her from the wires in the Embarcadero power plant. She insists on sleeping in his car because he broke down the door to her house since she ran away with the origami figures she had found in Susan Bowles's house. Hell hath no fury…

Scott + Kathy = killer's rented car - Virgil Minelli - who rented them on Paco's instruction - Paco who is now dead - Kathy tears off attacker's pocket during fight.

Ethan + Madison= completes pool trial which has an iron weight and balloons - seeks refuge in Madison's apartment where he has a teary call with Grace - is still a wanted fugitive and man on a mission. Shaken, not stirred.

Also… Grace - expects Scott to trace the last known location of the number Ethan called from - texts him the number when he is in The Blue Lagoon.

* * *

_Detective Carter Blake was embarrassed beyond words. All those scratches from the fall were a perpetual reminder. If he were ever asked about them, he would swear to being attacked by the neighbor's cat. It sounded awful, but better than "Oh, no big deal. Just fell out of a tree with a woman."_

_Except that his story, already based on dubious credibility, crumbled under Scott Shelby's questioning, during a nighttime vigil outside a suspect's home._

_"I never knew Mr. and Mrs. Brendan had a cat."_

_"What colour was it?"_

_"Male or female?"_

_"What did you do provoke it?"_

_Blake snapped. "You a cop or a lawyer? Focus! It's a stakeout!"_

_"I'm just a bored guy on a really pointless mission," said Scott. "So help me out here. And be honest. Was it a cat or an unpaid hooker?"_

_"The hell does your mind go to hookers? I don't do that shit!"_

_"Really?"_

_"Anymore…"_

_"Sure, Carter, you're a boy scout. So why did you piss her off?"_

_"I didn't get scratched by a hooker or a cat! I fell out of a tree! A fucking tree! With a woman!"_

_And there it was. Out in the open. Scott cracked that half a smile which he used generously as a rookie on unsuspecting prey in fishnet stockings. Just then, the radio crackled. It was Sergeant Shane. Foreseer of the stakeout._

_"Ladies, you do realise you're on radio, don't you?"_

_Scott shook with inaudible laughter. Blake punched his shoulder. "Which obviously means that _a lot of us_ heard you," continued the Sergeant._

_"I'm sure he'll live it down, Sergeant S," said Scott, "he's a big guy now."_

_"It's not Detective Blake's shenanigans that concern me… _Detective S_," said the Sergeant, "but your words. The stakeout, as you so eloquently describe as 'pointless' shows your foresight and intuition crucial for police work."_

_"Oh-kay," Scott frowned slightly while Blake bit back an anticipatory grin._

_"Desk job, Detective Shelby. One month. And you play Mother Hen to the rookies."_

_"Not the rookies!"_

_"Another infantile outburst and it'll be your badge, Detective!"_

_Blake sniggered._

_"Yes, Sergeant," said Scott, before turning down the volume of the radio._

_"Now, Detective Blake," he said. "Tell me all about the woman."_

* * *

_Blake was jogging much earlier than usual. It annoyed him greatly, but _certain _people needed avoiding. He heard a crunching of leaves and gravel behind him. A quick glance behind and he knew it was her He jogged faster. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought he heard her say his name. Blake picked up pace. He was in no mood for small talk. Or _any_ kind of talk._

* * *

_He opened his locker at the police station and ran a hand along its shelves. Scott stood behind him. "Looking for something, princess?"_

_"Can't find my ID card. Swore I had it on me."_

_Scott understood the anxiety. Blake did not even react to 'princess'._

_"Tough luck, pal," said Scott. "But there's a woman out to see you."_

_"She give a name?"_

_"Sarah Avila."_

_Blake slammed his locker shut. His eyes widened on Scott's._

_"No!"_

_"Uhh… yes. And she is very lovely."_

_Blake and Scott walked back to the work desk. He saw her across the room. Standing by the door, looking at nothing in particular._

_"She's a crazy stalker!" said Blake. "She tried to come after me in the park!"_

_"I'm sure she means well, Carteroo."_

_"No! Get rid of her! You know how to!"_

_Scott raised an eyebrow. "That ain't a compliment. And even if I do get my hands dirty… what's in it for me?"_

_"I'll cover your desk work."_

_Scott's look brightened._

_"For a day!"_

_Same look dampened._

_"Aw, shucks!" He cracked that smile again. "What the hell, it's for a good cause!"_

_He led Blake to his desk and to a particularly thick file. "You can hide your face in it."_

_Scott then went off in a more pronounced swagger to the lady in waiting. He was a handsome man back then, with golden hair flopped to one side, an easygoing charm and a rugby player's physique. No one in the department would be placing their bets on 'Bachelor for Life'. Or him quitting on them. Detective Shelby was yet to disappoint them on both counts._

_"Ms. Avila," said Scott to her disarming smile. "I'm afraid Detective Blake is tied up in a little briefing. Is there anything I can help with?"_

_"He dropped his ID in the park," said Sarah and gave it to him. The sharp glow of her blonde hair was a fascinating contrast to his own dark blonde thatch_

_"I'll be sure to give it to him," said Scott, with a smile just as lethal. He led her to the exit._

_"Your Detective Blake seems a very busy man," said Sarah._

_"Yes, he is," said Scott._

_"You must be too. So thank you for the help."_

_"It was nothing," said Scott, because it really was not. "And I'm never too busy to ignore social courtesies."_

_"Are you saying Detective Blake is not courteous enough?"_

_Scott gave a small laugh. "Carter's just out to save the world. It's time-consuming."_

_Sarah raised an eyebrow. "And what about you… (a quick glance to his badge)… Detective Shelby?"_

_"I'm just trying to save the doughnut shop next door from bankruptcy. Care to join me?"_

_She looked hesitant. "I'm not sure if I… "_

_"We could discuss Detective Blake's world-saving strategies while we're there."_

_Sarah's smile broadened till it lit her face. That and her hair… it made her radiant. It was something Scott remembered about her till date. Her luminescence._

_"Well then," she said."One little doughnut shouldn't hurt."_

_"Nothing a few jogs in the park won't burn off," said Scott and led her out with a gallant flourish._

_Blake had watched them curiously from a vantage point, itching to know what Scott would have to say to a woman who looked less insane every second. Maybe he should have gone and spoken to her. It would have been better than the files he was stuck with. He never knew what conversation Scott had with Sarah that day (though Scott assured him it was all good things). But later that day, Detective Shelby approached him, chit and ID card in hand._

_Chit had Sarah's number on it. "Call her, Cartie. She's waiting." Blake scowled. Tried to push words out of his mouth. "And relax," said Scott. "She isn't crazy. But I've still got two rookies doing a background check on her."_

_"Rookies!?"_

_"Hey! It's good training! And if something does come up, you'll have to make a housecall anyway!"_

_Blake looked back at the chit, then his ID card. Dialing that number _could _lead to calls and housecalls. All he needed to do was take the plunge…_

* * *

"Scott! You okay?"

He opened his eyes. They were in the corridor leading to Paco's office. He sat on the green slab amidst gleaming red aromatic candles. The God-awful club music could still be heard through the door. Kathy blurred around the edges, but that was rectified after a few blinks.

"Just peaches. What's happening?"

She pressed an ice pack to her nose. "You're really spaced out there, huh, Scottie? We're outside Paco's office. Roy's with two other guys, looking over the body."

"Trampling over the evidence?"

"No, they're keeping their distance. Called for a police team. They're on their way."

"Kathy, I think you managed to tear a pocket off the attacker during the fight."

"Yup."

"Contents?"

"Found a gas station receipts and crumpled piece of paper."

"Piece of paper sounds like good news. What's on it?"

"Fancy emblem and an order for a drink. Some exotic shit."

Kathy handed him the paper. Scott dabbed his index finger to the tip of his tongue before lightly smudging the text on the paper. Kathy frowned.

"It smudged," said Scott, "which means it's recent."

"Roy!" said Kathy. He turned to her. Kathy flashed him the emblem. "What's this?"

"Emblem of Hotel Delano. Another of Paco's joints."

Scott and Kathy exchanged a glance. What if the killer was an employee at the place?

"This belongs to someone who took an order there. Or was passed one," said Kathy.

Roy examined the paper at eye level for Kathy did not hand it to him. "This is the kind of stationary," said Roy, "at the disposal of the staff working the bar."

"How can you tell?" asked Scott.

"Because the emblem's color varies with the color scheme of the venue. The bar at Delano has a burnt red theme. So the emblem's burnt red too."

"That makes sense," said Kathy. "Maybe the killer only came here after completing his shift."

"Looks like you're making a trip with us to the Delano, Roy," said Scott.

"I'm not leaving this place. Not with cops swarming the joint."

"I know, I know, you've got an understanding which makes cops look the other way. But there's a dead body here and I know you need to get to this as bad as we do," said Kathy. She turned Roy around and handcuffed him again. "But that doesn't mean I take kindly to some of your overtures."

"Does it help if I say I was stoned?"

"It worsens your case, boy."

She turned him around. "Lead the way, Scottie," she said and the man did, all the way to his car. Kathy bundled him in.

"You're not pulling out any stops, are you?" said Scott.

"I'm just learning from the best," she said and fastened the seat belt. Scott kicked the accelerator and they were off.

* * *

"I have to go."

Madison bit her lower lip, cotton and disinfectant in a hand each. "I'm not sure if you're up for it, Ethan."

He was on his feet, slipping into his rain-soaked shoes. "I have to. Whether I'm up for it or not."

"Okay, hold on then."

She poured him a glass of water. In her outstretched palm was a small, white pill, with the austerity of a medication that meant business.

"What's that?" asked Ethan.

"It's a painkiller. Seeing as you have a thing for not returning in one piece, this is a safeguard."

He downed the pill in one swig. "Got another one?"

Madison raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if an overdose is a good idea."

"_Excessive _pain needs _excessive _safeguards."

Madison gave him a foreboding look before returning with another pill. "This is your _last _one, okay?"

Ethan did not respond, but chugged it down in a gulp as sure as the last one.

"Why don't I come with you?" said Madison.

"No."

"You'll have someone to help you."

"I need to do this alone."

"Ethan…"

"If I need to lie low, I know I can count on you."

"Absolutely."

He turned and she could see the limp that had been more prominent since the night before. So when Ethan did softly call out to her, Madison was by side to save him the painful five paces to where she was standing. He had his cell phone in hand.

"Do you think the cops can trace me if I carry this around?"

Madison shrugged.

"I guess if you got a call and stay on long enough."

"I can't risk that," said Ethan. He switched off his phone and gave it to her. "It's not like I can count on anyone else now, can I?"

The phone slowly changed hands.

"Be careful, Ethan."

He nodded and left, third origami figure in hand.

* * *

Grace lodged her finger into her throat. The passage reflexively clenched in a repugnant peristaltic heave. A ghastly hue of semi-solid waste rushed out from the undesired route and splattered over her wash basin. She goaded a little more with her finger. Nothing. Grace chose not to push it any further.

Mouth and basin cleaned, she slowly made her way to the kitchen. The exhaustion and shock was creeping in.

_High time too._

She had been running too long on adrenaline and situational denial. As she expected, her body was rejecting any kind of solid food.

_Smoothie it is, then._

She made herself a tall glass of it and slumped on the table. The brown kitchen clock, which went with the woodwork around the house ticked at its own pace. Grace momentarily considered taking out the battery. She eventually did not, since time was of the essence. Losing track of it was not.

_Yet all I can do is wait._

She checked again for Scott's call on her phone. It had not come. Her keypad was a blur. It was then that she realized she was shaking. She walked to her bathroom and opened the cabinet. Anti-depressants and stress relievers in small plastic containers returned her soulless glance.

She had bought them not long after Jason's burial. Grace took less than Doctor Dupre's prescribed dosage. She did not want overdependence or addictions. There was a little boy she was responsible for. She had the choice again. Her eyes darted between the two outlets. She thought of her trembling hands and then Norman's.

Nose bleeds, flashes and scrambling into a deeper abyss than the one you wanted to get out of. Grace shut the cabinet and locked it. She would get back to them in a few days. Depending on the outcome.

* * *

For all his frantic driving skills, Lauren invariably gave Blake due credit for a well-timed swerve into his building's parking lot.

"Last chance," said his narrowed eyes to hers in the rear view mirror.

"I am staying in this car until the door to my apartment is fixed."

"Have it your way."

He stepped out, auto-locked the car and left her curled silhouette to stare at his departing form.

_Crazy woman_, he thought to himself.

The breeze and rain swept past, though the chill swirled around him. It was then that he remembered his trench coat. And spared Lauren, the wearer, a second thought. She curled further in the back-seat till her forehead pressed against her knees. There was a knock on the glass pane near her head.

Blake gazed at her through it, the street lamp dividing his tilted face into an earthy partition of light and dark. Lauren wheeled the glass down.

He gestured to the building.

She shook her head.

He gestured again.

She blinked.

He unlocked her door.

She recoiled.

"I don't have all night," said Blake. The chill reached Lauren's bones. She gave a grudging 'fine' and stepped out of the car. She followed close behind, though not on his heels. It was not a posh building, but a welcome get-away from her own little 'joint'.

She fumed when they took the stairs all the way to his fifth floor apartment. What was the cop's problem with elevators anyway? He was polite enough to hold the door open for her, though Lauren did not take it as a suitable enough amend. She was not expecting a flat with indications of female occupation or neatness and was not disappointed either.

It looked like a man's den. A bat-cave. She had been to bachelor pads. They were swankier. But dens…

"It could be worse," she heard herself say aloud.

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Blake, unfazed.

She stood uncertainly in the hallway while Blake switched on the light in his bedroom.

"All yours," he said with a flourishing gesture. Lauren did not look particularly assured.

"I'm taking the couch," said Blake.

"You're being very nice to me."

"I'll be in and out of the house every few hours. You can show yourself out when your door's fixed."

Lauren crossed her arms. "Yes, _that _would be very kind of you."

"Not as kind as lending you my roof and bed. That couch is about as comfortable as a rock. You wouldn't be able to take it."

"Ah!" burst out Lauren. "So you're saying that I'm too delicate to sleep it out on the couch!"

Blake did not answer. He frowned and she continued. "Let me tell you, Lieutenant, that I am done with your sexism!"

"Uh huh?" He leaned against the white panel of his bedroom door. "Do go on."

"You're a Neanderthal who breaks down doors and carries away women!"

"So you're still sore about that?"

"You wanna see sore? You wanna _see _sore?"

Lauren rolled up her sleeves. There were dark patches on her wrists where she had been handcuffed. Blake shrugged. "Take the couch." He entered his room, only to peep out as an afterthought, as he undid his tie.

"And you know what?" he said. "I really was being nice. It don't come easy and it don't come often. Not that I need to take shit or explain myself to someone who runs off with crucial evidence."

He disappeared again, before listening to her retort. Incensed, she rocked back and forth on the couch. Then, in a decisive moment, she stomped into his bedroom. Privacy be damned.

He was pulling off his dark blue shirt. Blake did not see her at first. His back was to the door. Lauren saw the decaying welts and scars on his back. She knew above all certainty that they came from a leather belt. But belts of varying thickness.

She wondered what would have happened if Alan Winter and her Johnny had still been alive. Would her son's flesh have been embedded had the abuse continued? Or if she had not been around to stop it?

Another tug and the shirt was completely off. Blake's scars expanded and contracted among his lightly rippling muscles, telling a story of their own. It elicited a long delayed gasp from Lauren which upon hearing caused Blake to turn around. He froze for a moment, but in a recovering instant had the shirt shielding his chest. Lauren still caught a fleeting glimpse of a bullet wound near his shoulder.

"I don't know about you," said Blake, "but I charge for peepshows." His voice was slow, but teeth bared just a little, in insidious threat.

Lauren fled the room.

* * *

Norman had had enough of dead bodies. The whole hunt for evidence could get exhausting. He stood in front of his car, hands in pocket, looking at an old, crumbling structure. His Impala's hazard lights beamed in spurts and reflected on the sheer blackness of his trench coat. In his notepad inside the car was written a number Williams had dialed numerous times before being 'offed'. But he would get back to that later.

It had been years… years before he could have summoned the courage to return to the city of his birth. He was ten, when he had left. It had been raining that day.

Norman crossed the road to the crumbling house. It was unoccupied, but then he already knew that. He ran an affectionate hand on the cracked bricks. They had greyed up. Or maybe it was the weather. But the walls concealed his most bitter memories. His angry childhood. The uncaring parent, a death, the little boys at the orphanage, the adoption. It all stayed under his skin, flowed with his blood, scurried in his brain like clattering termites.

But he allowed himself some nostalgia for his first ever home, that whispered to him through the cracks. There was a lone pillar holding the roof over the porch. Norman put an arm around it and rested his forehead there.

For that one moment, he forgot who he was and everybody around him. All that mattered was that he was home. And that would be their little secret.

* * *

Secrets were everywhere. Underground boxing was Philadelphia's worst-kept. Amateurs perverted the essence of a brutal sport into a ridiculous farce. The hub of Pennsylvania's fight club. A world the genteel steered clear of.

The participants did not appear particularly respectful of rules. They seemed to show a preference for free style, the spectators for a carnal bloodbath. Ethan realized this as he made his way through the grotesque, spray-painted Goth dungeon with pockets of piercing white light.

He approached a man who had an air of a fixer. They were all so obvious about it. Ethan introduced himself, hoping that the killer, or he himself, had set up a trial that was a little less obvious. It was not.

"It's weird," said The Fixer, "but someone's bet a memory card on you for surviving two rounds in a fight. You can afford a knock-out or choose to tap out in the third round. But not the first two."

_Why don't I remember coming here? Who's the 'someone'? Is it someone I paid?_

"You wait your turn there," said The Fixer and threw him a pair of boxing gloves. "Don't wanna damage those hands, do you?"

Ethan already feared that he was damaging everything else.

* * *

They were in the dim, burnt red bar at Hotel Delano, in a dingy corner where no one was to disturb them. Roy did not want to be seen in cuffs either.

Scott checked his phone while Kathy went over the employee list. "I don't get it," she said and it mirrored Scott's feelings as he tried to understand why Grace would send him a number to trace out of the blue. "There is no employee by Aaron's name in the list," said Kathy.

"Which means one of the names is fake," said Scott. "I'm willing to bet that it's the name given to the bouncer. It's harder to forge official papers."

"Not if you know the right people."

Scott thought for a while. "I could collect the list of names while you go down to the station with the gas receipts. Maybe someone could make sense of them. It would divide our work."

"I could ask Norman. He's got those whipper-snapper glasses that could be of help."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but do what you must."

Kathy nodded to Roy. "What about this guy?"

"Whom you should technically be uncuffing because he is parting with confidential employee records," he said.

"Quiet," they said.

They turned to each other.

"I just wish there was something we could cross-check this list with," she said.

"Lemme get this list in order and we'll see. Keep that noggin ticking."

Kathy was off and Scott stood a little distance away from Roy, who muttered something furious under his breath. Scott ignored him and dialed Grace's number. She picked up in one ring. Judging by the tone of her voice, she must have jumped at the sound of her phone.

"What did you find?" she asked.

Scott sighed. _Buy a girl a drink first? No?_

"Whose number did you ask me to trace?"

"You mean you haven't done it yet?"

"Whose number is it, Ms. Garner?"

She was probably deep breathing with shut eyes at the other end.

"Ethan's."

_Jesus._

"You do realise that triangulating a fugitive's location would get the both of us in trouble, right?"

"I'm sure you have your ways."

"No, I don't. I have cop friends who could do it, but this is ridiculous because _you're _asking for it."

He heard her sigh at the other end. Scott bit his lower lip. "He tried to call you, didn't he?"

Grace did not respond. He could hear a table chair scrape against a marble floor and padded footwear walking towards… a window? The sound of rain felt nearer. "They'd trace the call straight to you, Ms. Garner. They'd wanna know why he's been calling you. What're you gonna say to that?"

She sighed again. Scott could almost see her shrug. "I don't know. I don't know, okay? But I can't stand it. I can't stand not knowing where my son is or where his father is. I'm in this alone and there is not a damn thing anyone can do to help me."

Scott heard her out patiently.

"It's suffocating," she said. "My phone's been off the hook since the press went public with this. I haven't been taking any calls."

"Give it a day or two," said Scott.

"A day or two is all I have!"

They both breathed heavily on the line, varying degrees of exasperation manifesting into a thick vaporous cloud.

"Ms. Garner, listen to me."

Scott knew she was.

"I will do my best. Whether or not anyone else does, I will not rest a moment. I'm fighting not just for the little boy but for you. All you can do is have faith. And just be transparent in the future. It's not on me to pronounce judgement on your ex-husband based on media reports, but I hope God brings his justice to you. And I will be there every step of the way."

"Thank you."

"Duty beckons," said Scott, returning Roy's scowl. "May I take your leave?"

"Yes."

He could almost see her leaning into the window pane.

"Goodbye, Ms. Garner."

"Goodbye, Mr. Shelby."

_Crisis averted_, thought Scott and made his way back to Roy. _And now, back to the business of names…_

* * *

He had just finished taking his shower when the phone rang. Taut and pale, he closely examined the lines of his drenched body in the mirror, white towel wrapped around his waist.

_Not bad… considering I fucked up everything else._

He answered it. "Norman Jayden."

"Hey, it's me," said Kathy. "I've some leads. Swinging by your hotel to share them with you."

"Umm… yeah. Sure. In how long?"

"Killer traffic. Could take a while."

"No problem."

He had meant to throw on a simple shirt and wear boxers beneath but with Kathy coming over he had to get into a suit. Be a bureaucrat, hilt and heel. He pressed his fingers to his temples. Headaches were beginning to be a second nature. It was a relentless, persistent throb. It circled his head. And took the ground beneath his feet with it.

His eyes fluttered.

_I've felt worse._

He steadied himself against the panel of the bathroom door. Then, he crossed the distance to his bed and lay down. Norman pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. It felt good. There was a burst of vision behind his eyes. She had red hair and brown eyes. He let his arms drop to his side, afraid to open his eyes. But the very thought that she may not be real whisked her away from his mind's eye as suddenly as she came.

Norman felt the slightest stirrings of an arousal for the second time that day. One woman could do what no other had done in four years. She also happened to be the victim's mother. And he needed to get away from her and thinking about her. Norman grabbed the remote control from his bed-side and turned on the TV.

The origami killer's case was everywhere.

_They should keep a countdown timer now_, he thought and knew it was a terrible one.

Glenn Sanders presented the news. He had been doing it since the killings started. Maybe they should just let him be a part of the investigating team next.

Norman fidgeted with a piece of paper torn from his notepad, still unsettled by the headaches and the vision. He hungered for her. Was that such a terrible thing to admit to himself? As circumstances turned out, it was. But the heart wants what the heart wants. And in his case, it craved far too deeply for someone who could never love him back.

He twisted and crumpled the edges of the paper, wondering what she was doing right now, this very moment. Sanders droned on. "Captain Perry, in a recent press conference, announced that Ethan Mars, father of the missing Shaun Mars, was the prime suspect after having escaped from police custody by attacking the officer on guard."

Norman folded the paper into a diamond shape and the corners into a neat centre and then a smaller square, eyes fixated on the screen. Television probably destroyed more brain cells than Triptocaine.

_Electronic noise._

He changed channels, a barely concealed irritation stoked by some terrible programming. His fingers were more determined now when he flipped the page over, each winged corner more defined with a downward facing flap.

"These pretzels are making me thirsty!"

"The good ones screw you, the bad ones screw you, and the rest don't know how to screw you."

"Why is it always sadder when tragedy strikes hot people?"

Yes. There was a reason he had stopped watching television. The more pressing concerns like keeping the streets clean. Always good for the sagging conscience. Norman created a pocket from one of the outstretched wings of the paper. It took the shape of a head with ears. A few more twists and it was done. A small figure of an origami dog in a tip-toed still upon his palm.

Norman crushed it as if it were a fly and threw it into the bin.

* * *

Madison leaned into her newspaper cuttings. Charlene and other sources yielded nothing. The cops were awfully tight-lipped sometimes, reducing the reporters to scavengers of scraps. That, or they really had nothing to share. Captain Perry's conferences were increasingly repetitive, but Madison knew it was a distracting tactic to ensure that their lot did not go digging too deep.

It was the same facts over and over again, same victims, faces blurring into one and other. Ethan was the pin-up fugitive of the month, while his ex-wife was surprisingly low-profile. A doctor, said one or two reports. Nothing more.

_Because we have nothing more. On anything._

She clicked her table lamp off and leaned backwards into her computer chair, fingers knitted to the back of her head.

_Where are you, Ethan? What are you doing?_

* * *

Ethan tightened the gloves around his wrists till they pulsed around the pressure, regretting every opportunity he passed for boxing in inter-collegiate events. Baseball was more his style. He was not a very physically violent person, a trait that reared in that rare club brawl in high school when a leery sucker eyed Grace. She had been flattered and frightened (having been caught unaware) by the sudden skirmish. All she had done was turn for a drink.

_And now she's made my work harder_, gritted Ethan. He could choose not to blame her, but he was angry, so _fucking _angry that he would. And he intended to use this in a cage fight should a literal push come to shove come to punches come to jaw-snapping elbow dives.

It was not half as ceremonious as a boxing match, but The Fixer only had to say "It's time" to Ethan for him to drag his feet in the direction of the ring. He could not see the opponent just yet and for that he was grateful.

The lights flared, the people cheered and Ethan was nothing more than an insignificant, crazy man walking the long road ahead for a purpose as noble as it was dangerous.

_Everything I did… I did for love._


End file.
